Of Delicate and Dangerous Things
by artemiskat
Summary: Ronan, the unknown younger half-brother of the Hero of Ferelden finds himself faced with a seemingly impossible task. Only one man can help him: Anders.  5th story
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The path was narrow. The limbs of the trees reached over it, entwining around each other like lovers. The rays of the sun barely reached through, but a few shined brightly onto a dozen little birds, pecking at the path for any food. The birds were unaware, or perhaps they did not care, that a cloaked and hooded figure stood sentinel at arm's length from them, a sword planted firmly in the dry ground in front of it. The birds continued to peck, at nothing but dust. It hadn't rained for a while now.

In the distance, through a blur of heat, three creatures thumped swiftly onto the narrow path, straying away from the hot sun and into the shade of the tree covered path. Dust flew up into the air. The birds craned their necks and heads towards this intrusion, their beady little eyes blinking once before they raised their wings and took flight all at once, disappearing into the trees. The figure finally moved, his head looked toward the beasts pounding the ground, running straight for him.

His heart pounded to the same rhythm of the hoofs beating the ground of the narrow path. Before, the beasts had ridden abreast of one another, but were now forced into single file. They galloped crazily toward him, emitting strange and unfamiliar sounds. The lead beast bared its teeth, its eyes wary at the figure standing in its way. Two of the beasts carried men. The horse thieves had run straight into their trap.

Ronan stood his ground, praying to Mythal and to Andruil for the beasts to stop. He had never seen a horse before. They were so rare and valuable that they were often the targets of thieves. The lead horse was larger than a _halla_, but had no horns. How were the _shems_ controlling it? The horse was black as night, a dreadful sight running toward him, spit running down its mouth. Ronan gripped the hilt of his sword for reassurance. The horse was closer now, still galloping straight for him. He closed his eyes for a second. He would not budge from his spot like a coward. It was only an animal, a beastly animal, but not a monster.

The thumping of the hooves finally stopped, the horse made a sound, much like an annoyed _halla_ would make and the _shem_ atop it cursed loudly. Ronan opened his eyes to see the second horse rearing backwards, the _shem_ sitting on that one trying not to fall as the front hooves rose high in the air before finally coming down with a final thud and loud snort from the horse. Dust found its way into his hood.

"Get out the way, stranger," the lead horse thief said. His face was an angry scowl as he tried to control the horse with ropes.

Ronan slowly drew his sword from the ground and shaking his head free of his hood, placed the blade casually atop his shoulder, the way a farmer would hold a pitchfork at rest. With a slight grin, Ronan shook his head. He was not going to get out of the way.

Glancing at Ronan with disdain, the thief spit to the side. "You're making a mistake, _Onehand_."

Once again, somebody was underestimating him. Ronan laughed. "This is a mighty fine spot, a narrow path, with a thick canopy of shade." Ronan looked up into the trees. "All the better to hide a couple of hunters."

The horse thieves looked nervously around them. The one in the back chuckled nervously, holding tightly onto the rope that fastened the third horse to the horse he sat atop, a chestnut colored skittish creature which refused to remain still.

"Hunters? A better spot? For what?" the lead horse thief asked.

"Why, bounty hunters of course." Ronan replied. "As for the what…"

"Most like we'll be running you down," the horse thief interrupted. He was about to kick his horse forward but instead he let his feet hit harmlessly against the sides of the horse. He looked nervously about him as a large potbellied man appeared beside Ronan, carrying a heavy maul over his shoulder as if it were a thin stick. He wore a rusty horned helmet and grunted menacingly at the horse thief. _Chug_, Ronan thought as he nodded to the man, _it's about time you show up. _He was beginning to think he was going to have to do this on his own. He noticed Vance and Fritz appear behind the horses at the same time the thieves noticed.

"Bloody Andraste," the thief cursed loudly. The large black horse he was seated on snorted loudly. Its hooves kicked at the ground in impatience as the thief looked for a way out. His companion had gone pale and shook in his saddle. "These horses are worth more than your bounty for us. Let us go and you can have them."

"We have no need for horses." Vance said.

The lead thief looked back at his companion with fury and disgust. "Bugger this, coward, I'm running them down. They won't hurt their precious horses or they won't see any coin." With those words said he kicked at his horse furiously, but the beast wouldn't move forward. Instead, it reared up angrily and let out a whining sound. Instinctively, Ronan backed away, fearing the hooves coming down onto him, crushing him horribly into a messy, unrecognizable pulp. In one instant he heard the faint rustle of leaves, the buzzing sound of an arrow cutting through air, and in the next he saw the spatter of blood as the horse's legs came crashing onto the ground. The horse thief had caught an arrow right through his thick neck. He fell from the horse with a great thud. His companion, wide-eyed and fearful, slid from the chestnut horse and fled into the woods.

"Fritz," Vance said calmly, tilting his head in the direction of the fleeing thief. Fritz gave a quick nod and disappeared into the woods, giving chase to the horse thief.

"That was too easy," Chug complained, leaning casually over the handle of his maul, no longer held over his shoulder. "We need to get better jobs."

The black horse pranced to the side of the narrow path, nervously pawing at the ground.

"We still have to return these beasts to its owner." Vance said, glancing toward the trio of rare and valuable animals.

Ronan walked carefully toward the black horse. It was a majestic and graceful creature. It was stubborn, itching to be free. Ronan reached out for it, but the horse backed away, neighing. _You are nothing like the halla_, Ronan thought as he placed his hand on the creature's neck. The horse seemed to calm under his touch.

"He's got the magic touch." Vance said with a chuckle.

Ronan narrowed his eyes in annoyance. _There is nothing magic about me_. He stroked the horse's neck. The horses belonged to a rich magistrate's country estate. They were his pride and joy and he was offering a lot of coin for their safe return and for the death of the thieves who dared steal them.

Ronan turned as he heard boots hit the ground. Anwen and Ty had come down from their hiding spots in the trees, bows slung over their backs.

"Nice shot, Anwen." Vance said, looking at the dead thief and the pool of blood around him.

Ty frowned. "How do you know it wasn't my shot?"

"Little brother, I know you too well." Vance whacked Ty playfully on the back. "You can't even aim your piss straight."

Chug laughed loudly with Vance as Ty shook his head and burned red with embarrassment. Ronan turned his attention back to the horse as Fritz emerged from the woods, nodding to Vance with bloodied hands.

Two months with these misfits and Ronan still didn't know what he was doing in the Free Marches. They weren't as bad as he first thought, but there was something missing. He was reminded of this empty feeling every once and a while when his chest would tighten and an ache where there should be no ache, for his hand was no longer there, would send shooting pain through his arm. Then he would wonder what he was doing so far away from his clan. He felt this way now, but somehow, the horse calmed him.

Over the long mane of the horse, he caught Anwen watching him with her strange violet eyes. The flat ear woman unsettled him. He knew she was a mage, but she pretended not to be one. And she barely ever said a word to anyone. Ronan looked away. Who knew what else the witch could do. If she could turn into a wolf, then perhaps she could read his mind. His mind was his own; he would never let anyone see into it.

"How we going to get these things back?" Ty's voice cut through Ronan's thoughts.

"I sure as hell can't ride them. We'll just herd them back. They've got four legs, rope around their necks, how hard can it be?" Vance replied.

"I'll ride them back." Ronan said. The others looked at him with surprise. Ronan had proved to them how skilled he was, but somehow they doubted he could do what he said. Well, he would show them. He had to admit, though, he was getting awfully tired of having to constantly prove himself. What exactly did they see in him? He was Dalish, one-handed, and not as big as a _shem_, but he was no pitifully small and pathetic city elf either.

After a moment of consideration, Vance nodded. "Just don't run off with the horses or the bounty. I don't want to be ambushing you anytime soon."

Ronan grinned, remembering how he had made Vance yield to him in a duel. "I won't, but how soon your memory fails you."

"Just go my Dalish friend. Show us how you can ride." Vance replied with a grin of his own.

Ronan looked at the horse standing before him. It couldn't be that hard to ride a horse, could it? The thieves, after all, had no trouble. He wondered, however, how he was supposed to climb atop the beast. Grabbing a hold of the mane with his only hand, he pulled himself up onto the horse. It took a nervous step backward. It felt odd to be on top of an animal. He had climbed onto _hallas_ as a child, but they were always skittish and never let him stay on for long. He glanced at the other horses, surprised to see that Anwen had already climbed onto the chestnut horse.

"Looks like Anwen will be going too." Vance said. "Meet us at the usual place."

Irritated now that Anwen was showing him up, he tried to get the horse to move, but nothing happened. The _shems_ had the nerve to laugh.

"By the looks of it, might be a few days before we see you again." Chug said with a laugh.

"Shut your mouth, Chug. Your fat ass would cripple the horse if you tried to sit on it." Ronan spat back.

"Lucky for us I didn't volunteer then." Chug said, still laughing.

Ronan tugged at the horse's reins, stroked its neck, and silently prayed for it to move forward. Suddenly, it did. He wondered if he did have the magic touch. But, of course, he didn't. He looked back to see Anwen wearing the slightest of smiles. She had smacked the beast in the haunches. She trotted forward with her horse, leading the third one forward, with Ronan's horse trotting behind them all.

_This is going to be a long ride_…

…

Ronan was deeply annoyed that Anwen was having no trouble at all sitting atop the horse, directing its every move. She looked like some sort of ancient horse goddess, sitting with her back straight, her long blonde hair streaming behind her like a magical golden cape, and effortlessly riding the horse like she was a part of it.

For his part, Ronan was uncomfortable. The horse was calm enough, but it kept straying off the path to eat dried up grass. It seemed to have a will of its own. And the way it trotted was giving him a sore everything. Muscles he didn't even know he had strained in his thighs as he did everything he could to stay atop the beast. The third horse followed quietly behind Anwen's, the dust from both of them getting into Ronan's face and into his mouth, stuck in between the crevices of his teeth. Riding a horse was not as fun as it had looked.

"How do you know how to ride a horse?" Ronan asked, tired of the silence. "And so gracefully, too."

Anwen only shrugged, keeping her attention focused on the path ahead.

Ronan rolled his eyes and angrily brushed his hair free of dust. Not that it would do any good anyway as it would just get dirty again. The black horse was slowly turning a shade lighter with all the dust being blown onto them. "Why do you hardly say anything?"

Anwen shrugged again.

Frustrated, Ronan tried to maneuver the horse to ride abreast of Anwen. Stunningly, it did as it was told, but Ronan was nearly jolted off, unprepared as he was for the sudden bolt. He was able to pull it back from running completely ahead of Anwen. "You have something to hide then."

Anwen turned to him. "If I have something to say, you will hear it."

"Bah, suit yourself then."

Ronan couldn't wait to collect the bounty for these horses. He couldn't wait to rejoin the others. Though he wondered how in the world he would be able to walk after riding the beast for so far a distance. If Anwen would be able to walk with no problems and not he, then Fen'Harel was surely playing a cruel joke on him yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"North is always a good direction to travel. But so is south, east, west. We've been going north since we cut through the Vimmark Mountains. Where does this end? When we fall off the edge of the world?" Ronan gazed around the rustic wooden walls of the usual meeting place, an inn in the middle of nowhere. They had been there for a few days while they tracked the horse thieves. "Or did we come all this way north for this place?"

"Oh, now you care?" Vance asked while he watched with interest the inn's owner, a ravishing red haired woman named Ursula.

It was true. Ronan hadn't cared where they were going. He had only wanted to be as far away from home as possible. And, since that night, he wanted to be as far away from Kirkwall too. But that feeling of emptiness, it came creeping back into him more frequently now. _Perhaps_, he thought, _I am too far from my clan now_.

"Well?" Ronan prodded, running a hand through his hair impatiently.

"Starkhaven." Vance finally answered. Ursula beckoned to him from afar, a coy smile transforming her deep red lips. "But Ursula's always worth a few days of distraction." With an impish grin, Vance scampered up from his seat to meet with the woman.

"Starkhaven? I never heard of the place." Ronan said with a frown. He rubbed his back as Chug and Fritz joined him at the table, placing a jug of ale and a few cups onto the table roughly, causing some ale to spill over. Riding that horse had not been such a good idea, as he had aches where he never had before. But the coin had been good. _Coin? What has happened to me? I never used to care about coin…_

"Starkhaven is a grand city, ruled by a prince. Plenty of rich people there, meaning better jobs for us." Fritz explained, pouring the cups full of ale. He pushed one in front of Ronan. Ronan never really liked the taste of human ale, but he took the cup anyway.

"There are rich people in every city." Ronan said.

"True, but Starkhaven is at least a little more civilized than Kirkwall, and even Denerim." Fritz replied. He was an average sized man with long blonde hair, two large braids framing his face, and sea green eyes that never ceased to emanate kindness, even when he was pissed off. He was also from Ferelden, unlike the others who were all Marchers from Kirkwall. Except for Anwen. Ronan didn't know where she came from.

"Let's get some music going in here." Chug bellowed loudly after taking a large gulp of ale. Some of the liquid ran down his face, making his beard glisten in the candle light. He still wore his double horned helmet. "This place feels like a chantry."

There were about a dozen or more other patrons in the inn. It was a popular rest stop in the long distance between the mountains and the Minanter River. As chance would have it, there was a bard nearby and he started playing his instrument. Ronan groaned. He didn't really like the loud music of the _shems_. He put the awful tasting ale to his mouth and drank, and drank, and drank.

Fritz began to sing. It was more like shouting though and Ronan winced in pain at the screechiness of the man's voice. "Sip once, sip twice, for the wench in your life!" Fritz and Chug both took big gulps of the ale, ogling the serving girls, who giggled at the men. "Take a big gulp, let the ale flow, don't you dare spit on your foe! The ale is too good for that, drink it all till you get fat!" Chug patted his belly at these words and burped loud and long. Ronan shook his head in disgust.

A lithe serving girl came to the table to refill their jug. Her long brown hair was tied back with ribbons, and for a moment, Ronan felt his heart leap out of his chest. The woman looked so much like her… _you are nothing_. He grabbed the jug and refilled his cup to the brim. He would not think of those words anymore, but words cut deeper than blades, and the wound it had inflicted was stubbornly refusing to heal.

"Drink for the wanderer, drink for the poor, drink for the scholar, drink for the bore! Hail to the men no longer here, we've got their women now, no fear!" Fritz continued to screech. He stood up and held his cup out to the room. "A salute to all drinking and fighting men; this one right here for the Hero of Ferelden!"

Ronan pushed his chair backward and with his cup in his hands, slipped out of the now boisterous inn. Even all the way here in the middle of nowhere he couldn't escape his brother's admirers.

…

The night air was warm. The sky was filled with bright, twinkling stars, and a sliver of a moon. Ronan leaned against the wall of the inn. He finished what was left in his cup and threw the thing onto the rough, dry ground, chuckling as it shattered into little pieces. He could feel his wits become addled. He shouldn't have drunk that much. Who knew what lurked in those woods?

With a smile, he unsheathed his sword and walked crookedly into those woods. There was nothing he liked more than a good challenge. However, there were no beasts to be found and he could hear nothing but the sound of insects, until he found himself a little further in. There was a clearing ahead and voices rang through to his ears. He paused to listen.

"There once was a barbarian princess named Celestine. She was very beautiful and when it came time for her to be married, she had no lack of suitors. Of course, she wasn't as beautiful as you." Ronan snorted. It was Ty, seated next to Anwen. He was trying to impress her.

"At this point in time, there were no stars, just a black fathom in the sky. The stars had been eaten up by a dragon." Ty pointed to the sky. To Ronan's surprise, Anwen seemed to actually be listening intently to Ty's ridiculous story. "Celestine thought it very sad that the night sky should be so empty. So she had all her suitors bring her diamonds. Then she tossed them into the sky and that is where stars come from. When she died, she became the moon."

Ronan couldn't hold it in any longer, he burst out laughing and stumbled into the clearing. Ty and Anwen were surprised to see him. "What a ridiculous story."

Ty frowned. "Nobody asked your opinion."

"That is not where stars came from." Ronan said. He could feel his words coming out slurred. "Everyone knows that Elgar'nan's fury caused the stars to exist."

"A Dalish legend?" Ty snorted and crossed his arms. "Tell us then. Let us see how _ridiculous_ your story is."

"It is not _my_ story, it is Dalish truth." Ronan gripped onto a tree to keep his balance. "When Elgar'nan's father the sun burned his mother the land and all the creatures she created for him, he vowed vengeance on his father. Elgar'nan fought his father for an eternity. Rightfully so, Elgar'nan finally won, throwing his father the sun from the sky and burying him underground, turning the world into nothing but shadows. The stars, they are just reminders of the battle between Elgar'nan and the sun. They are the sun's lifeblood. And that is why we have stars, or so the _hahren_ would let us believe."

"And you don't believe it so?" Ty asked.

Ronan never questioned the stories told him by the _hahren_, but he always wondered what happened to the daylight if the sun was buried in an abyss by Elgar'nan. Did Elgar'nan let the sun come out for half the day? Is that why they had day and night too? Ronan slunk under a tree. Obviously, Elgar'nan let his father out every day, for the sun appeared at dawn and disappeared at dusk every single day of his life. What stupid questions to wonder at. He probably should have listened more closely to the _hahren_ as a child. His lids felt very heavy now. He closed them, feeling about to fall asleep any second. But he had to have the last word.

"It's better than your explanation."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Starkhaven shone brightly in the hot summer sun. The city was a vision of different shades of white. The paths were constructed of granite and it seemed as if there was a marble fountain in every courtyard. Fritz was right, Ronan had to admit; the city was rich. Every estate they passed looked as if it were the home of a king. But there were no kings here, just a ruling prince, a dimwit who did not truly belong on the throne. At least, that was what he heard from the whispers on the sparkling clean streets.

Ronan found himself wandering the city with Ty and Anwen. Vance had told them to spread out, to try to find something worth doing. Ronan fumed inwardly. He would rather have gone with anyone but these two, an untested youth and a voluntary mute. The richly attired people on the streets, however, gazed curiously only at Ronan. He did his best to ignore them. They must not see too many Dalish around here. What a sight they must make. However were they supposed to find a good job?

Ronan glanced behind him. Anwen hovered behind him closely, her gaze on the ground. She seemed nervous, her shoulders hunched forward. She had pulled her hair back into one long braid that morning, Ronan noted, for the first time since he had met her. Ty followed Anwen closely, a lovesick expression covering his face. Ronan shook his head in disgust. _What a fool_.

Ronan lead on, weaving through the crowds, wondering what the hell he was supposed to be looking for. The people in the crowd gave him amused looks but did not stop. He paused in front of a gate. Anwen stumbled into his back. Ignoring her, he went up to the gate. Looking through it, he saw a large burnt out building.

"The one blemish on this city so far, besides the haughty _shems_." Ronan said to himself. There were notices stuck onto the gate. Ronan grabbed at one and looked at it. He couldn't read.

"The Starkhaven Circle." Ty said. Ronan handed him the paper. Ty shrugged. "I never learned to read either. Darktown isn't the place for raising scholars."

Ronan looked back at the burnt out building. "What happened here?"

"The same year of the Blight in Ferelden, mage renegades burnt down the place." Ty said. Ronan noticed Anwen fidgeting.

"What happened to the mages?" Ronan asked, keeping a suspicious eye on Anwen.

"Some escaped. Some were rounded up and sent to the Gallows in Kirkwall." Ty answered. Ronan took the notice back from him. He shook it in Anwen's face.

"I know you can read. I've seen you."

Anwen, still looking at the ground, took the paper reluctantly from Ronan. She gazed at it for a moment.

"Well, by the gods woman, what does it say?" Ronan asked impatiently.

Anwen crumpled up the paper and tossed it to the ground. "Nothing."

Ronan furrowed his brows in frustration. He grabbed Anwen by the arm. "Nothing you want us to know, right?"

"Hey," Ty said shoving Ronan away from Anwen. "Leave her be."

Ronan turned around and walked away. He really wanted to punch the _shem_ in the face, or give him a rough shove back, but Ty was Vance's little brother. Whether he liked it or not, Ronan couldn't afford to be on his own right now. There were too many bandits, cutthroats, thieves, and general rottenness between here and home. Instead, he kicked furiously at the ground.

"Don't touch me again, _halla_ turd."

…

Even the tavern was made of marble. The walls and floors were polished to a sparkle. Vance, Fritz, and Chug sat hunched at a marble table. They looked terribly out of place, with their rough leather armour, crude weapons, and tanned skin. Chug's double horned helmet contrasted frighteningly against the glittering architecture around them. As Ronan and the others joined the trio already at the table, a serving girl stared haughtily at them. Ronan grinned at her and she scrambled away quickly.

"Did you find anything?" Vance asked as they took a seat.

Ronan shook his head. "The _shems_ in this town should be given a trophy for being the most stuck-up in Thedas."

"Normally, I would take offence at your slur," Vance said, "But you're right. The people of Starkhaven are a condescending lot. When they need people such as us, though, they pay good coin."

"So you found nothing as well?" Ty asked his brother.

"On the contrary, we've heard about bounties for renegade mages." Vance said, leaning over the table. Ronan stole a glance at Anwen, who sat as still as a statue. Her eyes, however, darted back and forth nervously. She _was_ an apostate. He knew it all along, from the moment her sorry wolf self stole his blade.

"It's been years now since the Starkhaven Circle burnt down." Ty said.

"What is your point?" Vance asked.

"Any mages they haven't caught, well, they must be something."

"Aw, is the little boy afraid of the big bad wizard?" Chug taunted.

"I am not afraid." Ty spat back, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

"This is good coin, brother." Vance said, staring at his little brother. He gestured to the lot of them. "There are six of us. We can take on any mage."

"What if there are more than one?" Anwen spoke up to everyone's surprise. She lowered her head under their gazes.

Ronan hated to admit it, but Ty and Anwen were right, though he had the feeling that Anwen was only out to save her own hide while Ty was simply too scared. Any mages that were still out there would be desperate to remain free, especially after all this time. He thought of his brother, Tristan. He was a powerful mage. He'd hate to face even one mage like him, let alone two or three at the same time. He should speak up, but he didn't want to appear a coward.

"Anwen, sweetness, we can take them." Vance reassured her.

"Based on what?" Anwen pushed. "In the last couple of months, all we've done is kill a few horse thieves and chase off a few hungry refugees from stealing early crops. How can that compare to a couple of mages who've been on the run for a few years now?"

Vance glanced to Chug and Fritz, who both shrugged. "Cowards, the whole lot of you are cowards. What about you my Dalish friend? What do you think we should do?"

Ronan tapped the marble table in thought. "Gods, there is nothing I like more than a challenge. I once killed a Tevinter magister and his apprentice. They weren't that powerful once they were away from their mercenaries." Ronan paused. He remembered the slaver ship, the exhilaration at killing the mage who wanted to enslave his whole clan. He glanced at his stump of a hand. It was the Qunari that had proved difficult. He'd had the blood lust running through his veins then and only one thing on his mind: vengeance. It had been a different matter altogether from what Vance was proposing. Catching thieves was one thing, but catching mages? Their only crime was wanting freedom, at least as far as he could tell.

Ronan glanced at Anwen. Her head was downcast, but her eyes looked up pleadingly at him. Whatever he said, Vance would still be outnumbered. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, that he didn't want to take this bounty. Instead, he shrugged.

Vance slammed his fist onto the marble table. "Maker's ass."

"We should leave mage-hunting to the experts." Ty suggested.

Vance stood up. "Fine. But don't come whining to me when we run out of coin, or when you decide not to be a bunch of bloody cowards."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

They camped beside the Minanter River, the long, winding, serpentine river that fed many a farm. These farms in turn fed most of the continent. It was no wonder why the Free Marches was also sometimes called the breadbasket of Thedas. Ronan had never seen such lush and fertile lands, though it had been dry for a while now. Many a farmer wished only for rain, not for a blade or two to defend them. There was no coin to be found there for the moment, which caused Vance to grumble nonstop about the missed opportunity in the mage bounties.

They did not make a fire. It was too warm for that. Besides, the moon and stars gave enough light for them to see through the night. And the land was so dry, they didn't want to start a wildfire. Instead, they sat around, lazy from walking under the hot sun all day. Ty was snoring loudly under a tree, the only one asleep for the moment.

"Must you always wear that ridiculous helmet?" Vance said, sending an irritated glare towards Chug. Vance was still angry. "You're making me ten times hotter just looking at the metal cauldron on your head."

"I like the way it looks on me." Chug replied with a grin.

"You look like a barbarian." Ronan said, leaning his back against a tree.

"I did take it from a dead Avvar…" Chug said, knocking on the metal helmet.

Ronan furrowed his brows. "Was the man not wearing anything else useful?"

Fritz laughed. "The helmet was the only thing that fit him."

Ronan wasn't surprised. The man had a large gut. But he would never want to get into a fight with Chug. He was fat, but he didn't get that way by lazing around and eating rich food. His arms were powerful and muscular, his legs thick as tree stumps, and his belly, well it was full of ale. He wasn't nicknamed Chug for just any reason.

"I take after my mother." Chug said, swatting a fly away from his face.

"She must be a very big woman then." Ronan said. He could hardly imagine a woman as big as Chug, or a woman giving birth to someone as big as Chug, though, he could hardly tell if Chug had been a big baby.

"She could crush you to death in a second."

"She'd have to catch me first, and since you take after her, she must run as slow as you."

"Enough about my mother. You're making me homesick."

Ronan chuckled. He took out his sword. It needed a good cleaning. He had been neglectful of it lately. He wondered what his grandfather would think of him, running around with a bunch of humans. He hoped Theron would be proud, but somehow, he knew that wouldn't be the case. He felt a sharp pain run through his arm and winced. His father, on the other hand, would definitely thrash him if he knew what he was doing, serving _shems_ for coin, running away from his clan.

Gods, he was running away, wasn't he? Not just from his clan, but from her too. _Melisende_. Ronan had once thought his brother a coward for running away from his duties. Now he was doing the same thing, eating his own words. He dropped the sword onto the ground. Anwen watched him closely from the other side of camp. He frowned at her.

"That blade of yours," Fritz said, nodding to the sword on the ground. "How did you get such a thing?"

Ronan picked up his sword. He didn't feel like talking anymore, so he shrugged.

"Come on, tell us." Vance said. He picked up his own greatsword, a common steel blade. "We can't all have swords such as yours."

Ronan sighed. "It was my grandfather's sword. He pieced it together, carved the designs into it. He was the clan's craftsmaster."

"It was passed on to you? Not to your father?" Fritz asked.

"My father is Keeper. He has his own father's weapons."

"Well, I'll be damned." Vance said enthusiastically. "It seems we have Dalish nobility in our midst! Prince Ronan…"

"No." Ronan said sternly. "There is no such thing."

Angrily, Ronan arose and stalked off into the woods, toward the babbling Minanter River. He wanted to be alone. _I am nothing…_

…

The river shone dark blue under the moonlight. It lapped gently against the shore, babbling quietly and serenely. It beckoned to him in his misery. Ronan removed his leather cuirass slowly, for he couldn't untie the fastenings any faster with just one hand. He threw it onto the ground furiously and then just as angrily took off the shirt that had been underneath it. He kicked his boots off and waded into the water, the levels apparently lower than usual, and when it was deep enough, he dove in.

The cool water was refreshing. It soothed his anger. Not to mention it washed away the sweat of the day. He tried not to think of the last time he had went for a swim, but it couldn't be helped. It had not been voluntary and it had been in the sea, but it had brought him here. It had brought him closer to Melisende, and then everything had turned sour. To top it all off, his brother might even be dead. And here he was, swimming in the Minanter River, far away from home, from his mother, who might need him. What had he been thinking? Why did he think running away would make everything better? He was nothing but a coward after all.

Ronan ducked underwater. He wanted to forget everything that happened, to forget about the stranger he was becoming. He held his breath for longer than he should have. He felt his lungs about to burst, and he felt lightheaded. He cursed himself for enjoying the pain and then pushed himself upward, breaking through to the surface. The large gulp of air he sucked in felt even better. _Suck it up_, he told himself.

He made his way back to the shore. He sat perched on a rock, resting his eyes.

"You have many scars," a voice rang out from behind. He opened his eyes. What did she want? Had she been watching him all this time? Annoyed, Ronan turned to face Anwen.

"Scars are common among warriors."

"But those are not from blades, not from anything forged by man." Anwen came closer, walked slowly behind him. Ronan grew uncomfortable from her close scrutiny of his scars. He felt her fingers brush lightly against his shoulder. He turned away from her touch.

"What is your point?"

"Forgive me," Anwen said, turning her gaze to the ground. "I did not mean to…"

"You know they are from an animal, because you are an animal."

Anwen turned away and said nothing. Ronan grew frustrated at her voluntary bouts of muteness. He wished she would just talk like a normal person. But he didn't have the patience for her right now. He wanted to be alone.

"You are going to shrug me off again? Why am I not surprised?" Ronan spat. "If you aren't going to say anything, just leave."

Anwen hesitated and then took a seat on another rock. Ronan frowned. He was going to have to put up with her then. He might as well get to the truth of her, if he could.

"You are an apostate. Why won't you admit it? Why do you hide it from the others? Why do you not even use your magic?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone!" Anwen stated firmly, much to Ronan's surprise. He was confused. Why would she hurt anyone, unless she did not know how to control her magic?

"Then why don't you go to the Circle? I don't know much about these places, but… my brother, he was raised in the Tower of Ferelden, and he turned out alright. He was a great mage."

"Was?" Anwen asked timidly. "Your clan gave him up?"

Ronan sighed. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Tristan. The gods had not only blessed his hero brother with a skilled sword arm but with magic as well. And for himself? The gods had taken away his hand and cursed him. Why? Why him and not Tristan? They had given him everything and Ronan nothing. _Nothing, I am nothing._ But did that matter in the end? Tristan might be dead. What good were blessings of the gods then? He turned his attention back to Anwen. "Never mind. My point was that they could help you there."

Anwen shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Then I'll never understand because you never say anything."

Anwen looked away guiltily. "It was horrible. I'll never go back. All I wanted was to be free again. The fire was my chance, I took it."

"So you were in the Starkhaven Circle?"

Anwen nodded after a slight hesitation. "You won't tell the others?"

"Secrets…" Ronan began. Anwen looked at him imploringly. Ronan stared at his stump and considered her request. He had his own shameful secret. If he kept Anwen's secret, it might come back to bite him. But on the other hand, if the _shems _were too stupid to see what was clearly standing before them, then so be it. "We all have secrets. I will keep yours."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Chug said excitedly. He rubbed his fat belly. "I can't walk one more mile in this heat."

Like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, Ursula's rustic little inn stood like a shining beacon against the darkening sky. The dark grey clouds rolled swiftly overhead. The leaves of the trees rustled in the wind, flipping over to their backsides. Rain, no, a storm was threatening.

"The heat would have been the least of your worries." Ronan remarked with a grin as he gazed at the sky above them. His hair whipped around him in the increasing wind.

"To think, just as we decide to head back south, the rain is going to return." Vance grumbled. "Now that the farmers will need us again. Of all the rotten luck…"

"Makers blessing on us all, the rain is come." Fritz interrupted with a smile, rushing forward to the inn as the first few drops of rain fell haphazardly from the sky. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning appeared overhead.

"I don't want to be out here when the clouds burst all at once." Ty said, catching up to the others after a quick glance at Anwen. But she hung back.

"Are you coming?" Ronan asked her. He hesitated to move forward, though he badly wanted to. She wore such a forlorn look on her face. Ronan hoped she wouldn't start some sort of confession. He hated it when people talked about feelings and sappy stuff like that. He never knew what to say to them.

"The rain…" she whispered faintly. She did not finish her thought, much to Ronan's relief. They quickly joined the others in the rush to shelter under Ursula's sturdy roof.

…

Ronan had dozed off on a bench and when he awoke, he found that Ursula had her fireplace blazing, much to his surprise. But, for some reason, he was cold and so he was grateful for the fire. The rain pattered loudly on the roof of the inn. He sat up and realized that he was alone. _Where is everyone? Where did they go off to?_

Something whimpered on the floor. He turned to the sound and to his amazement found Ash lying comfortably on the floor of the inn.

"Ash!" Ronan cried out. The wolf looked up at him. Ronan sidled onto the floor near the beast, happy to see him again. He rubbed the wolf's neck and held him close. The feel of Ash's warm coat was comforting. He hadn't realized how much he had missed his four legged friend.

"How did you get here?" he asked the wolf, as if it would answer him. Ash just pushed his muzzle into Ronan's chest and pawed lazily at his arm.

The door to the inn creaked open slowly. The wind blew cold and wet into the inn. Ronan shivered. Somebody came in, wearing a large flowing cloak. Their face was hidden in the shadows of the hood. Ronan couldn't tell who it was. Something didn't feel right. This wasn't real.

The cloaked figure walked slowly toward the fire, leaving a trail of water behind it. When it reached the fire, it held out its hands to the warmth. _Those hands… _Ronan watched as the hands reached for the hood and pulled it back. Ronan caught his breath as he realized who it was.

_Melisende_. Her deep blue eyes bored into him and she grinned. "Ronan, I am surprised you have nothing to say."

"You're not really here," he replied, standing up.

"Have you taken a blow to your head?" Melisende gazed at him with wide eyes. "I'm standing right here."

"Why have you come then?" he asked, though he still didn't believe she was real. He must be dreaming. This couldn't be happening. Could it?

"To tell you…" she began but stopped suddenly. Ash slinked over to Melisende and licked her fingers as she bent to ruffle his neck.

"To tell me what? That I am nothing?" Ronan asked impatiently. "To mock me, to taunt me, to _torment_ me?"

Melisende shook her head, her eyes narrowing and mouth constricting in sadness. "Come home…" She began to fade away, taking Ash with her. _Home? I don't know where home is. _Ronan angrily strode forth to touch her, to stop her from leaving, but when his hand reached for her, it touched nothing but air. He lost his balance and fell forward onto the floor.

…

Ronan's legs jerked under the table, sending the empty cup atop it crashing to the floor. It felt like he had really fallen. Lifting his head from the table he looked around him. He spotted Chug drinking ale in the far end of the room, and not far from him, Fritz and Ty were playing cards. Beside him sat Anwen, reading a book, though she stared curiously at him.

_It was a dream…_

"Bad dream?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. _Melisende_. He wanted to see her again, though it pained him to think of her, to remember what she had said to him. He slammed his fist on the table. He was being a fool. When did he ever let _words_ get to him? But it wasn't just that. The way she had looked after that night… like she had committed a heinous crime. He didn't blame her for looking that way; it was shameful, what they had done. Elves and humans didn't belong together. _Then why did it feel so right? Why does it hurt so much?_

"Are you alright?" Anwen shyly asked. She had put down her book in concern.

"It's nothing," he lied. "I just ate something horrible."

Anwen raised her brow in suspicion, but she said nothing more. She didn't believe him. What did he care? Ronan felt like going outside, but it was still pouring, though the rumbling of thunder had stopped. "Mythal help me," he whispered to himself as he realized how weak he had become. Normally, nothing would stop him from going outdoors, especially not a little rain. Now, however, he was a stranger to himself. _When did this happen?_

Anwen sucked in her breath loudly. Ronan turned to her questioningly. She had picked up her book again and seemed to hide behind it, sinking lower onto the bench. She was looking nervously toward the door of the inn. Ronan followed her gaze and knew before he saw what had made Anwen so anxious. Templars, a whole sodding group of them. A dozen at least.

"Relax, Anwen." Ronan said. "They are probably just seeking shelter from the rain. They will be gone before you know it."

Anwen shook her head. "Hide me."

"You're being silly. Just act normal."

"You don't understand. There is one that would recognize me."

Ronan watched the Templars carefully. They shook the rain off of their glistening armor and scattered about the room. A few took seats near Ty and Fritz, asking to join in on the card game. Vance appeared from the stairs, looking disheveled and self satisfied. Ronan noticed just as Vance did that the Templars had two mages captive. They shoved them in a corner, tied up and miserable. Vance pointed at them and grumbled to Chug. No doubt he was complaining about the bounty they could have had if they had caught those pathetic looking mages.

"Why don't you change into a wolf then?" Ronan snapped. Really, just because she had confided to him, didn't mean he had to help her.

"That wouldn't be wise and you know it."

"So go ask Ty for help." Ronan said sarcastically. "I'm sure he would love to help you."

"He's playing cards with _them_," Anwen replied breathlessly, still hiding behind her book. Her eyes darted around the room. She reminded Ronan of a trapped and cornered doe. He sighed.

"Fine, what would you have me do?"

Anwen hesitated, unsure of what to do. "Just hide me." She placed her book down onto the table and smoothly moved closer to Ronan. Without looking at him, she clambered onto his lap and placed her arms over his shoulders. Ronan arched a brow at her.

"Right, this doesn't look suspicious at all."

"If we kiss, nobody will notice us."Anwen replied shyly. "People don't care to look at these things."

Ronan grinned. "Perverts do." She still wouldn't look him in the eye. So this was her bright idea? He didn't think it would work, especially if Ty saw what might happen. That would surely start a brawl. "If Ty sees us…"

"Ty is occupied. Just shut your big mouth and help me."

"There are less obvious ways of hiding, you know."

"Like what? Hiding under the table?"

Ronan chuckled. He was getting caught up in the moment, with the danger lurking in the inn, the woman sitting in his lap, begging to be kissed. Anwen was a flat ear, but she was quite pretty, despite the large scar running down the left side of her face. He tilted her head up, a blush spread throughout her cheeks. "You know, if we are to kiss, you're going to have to stop being so shy."

Anwen moved in for the kiss, finally. Her lips tasted sweet, but hesitant. _Gods, it's been a while since I kissed a woman… _The dream, however, was still fresh in his mind and his thoughts couldn't help but turn to her, the Grey Warden. He couldn't do it. He broke free.

"Anwen, this isn't going to work. I can't kiss you all day."

Anwen regarded him questioningly.

"No, I mean, if I wanted to, I could kiss you all day and night…"Anwen looked hurt. Gods, that was the last thing he wanted to do. "That's not what I meant, either."He never used to give a second thought to a romp with a woman, but ever since Melisende… there was no other woman he wanted. _Curse that shem_.

Anwen removed her arms from his shoulders. "Take me outside."

"Walking through a hall full of Templars, do you really want to do that?"

"I don't want to be near them. I want to go outside." Anwen climbed out of Ronan's lap. She took a deep breath and then swiftly headed toward the inn's door, looking at the ground. _As if that will make her less noticeable._

Ronan sighed, and then sat up, hurrying after her. As they passed Ty, he looked up from his card game and glared at them. _Mythal, let him keep his mouth shut_. But he didn't.

"Anwen," Ty called out. "Where are you going?"

Anwen paused, but Ronan pushed her forward again. Too late. A Templar had perked up at the mention of her name. He stood up and walked over to Anwen, his boots pounding the floor, bringing the room to silence. She froze as he looked her up and down. Ronan clutched at his sword instinctively.

"This woman is a wanted apostate," the Templar sneered. He snapped his fingers and the rest of the Templars stood up. "Arrest her."

Ronan unsheathed his sword and stood in front of Anwen.

"You are mistaken, messere." Ty said.

"Citizen, this is none of your business," the Templar said. He stared at Ronan. "Back away, for your own safety."

"Anwen, run." Ronan said through gritted teeth. Anwen fled the inn and Ronan struck out at the Templar. The Templar blocked the swing with his shield and gestured for one of the other Templars to chase after Anwen.

"Mages are too dangerous to fight, but attacking mage-hunters?" Vance said with barely concealed scorn and then unsheathed his greatsword. He shrugged. "Bullshit. This is complete bullshit." Vance swung his sword at the nearest Templar anyway.

Chug overthrew a table and knocked a few Templars down with his bare hands. He searched drunkenly for his maul, which was actually right behind him, but he never noticed. Fritz fought a templar with his sword and shield, his braids flying through the air. Ty ducked and kicked at the Templars, trying to sneak his way through to the door. The serving girls scattered about the room, running upstairs to Ursula.

Ronan stepped backward, dodging the thrust of the Templar's sword, narrowly avoiding his throat being stabbed. It was quite hard to fight the heavily armored Templar without a shield. He had to be quick and clever. The Templar came at Ronan with his shield, bashing him in the arm and sending him tumbling to the floor. Ronan quickly jumped up and kicked the Templar in the chest. It was not enough to hurt the man, with his armor and all, but it did send him reeling, and Ronan punched the man in the face with his sword hilt. The Templar fell back, holding onto his face in pain. Ronan took the opportunity to run outside.

The rain still came down in waterfalls and sideways as the wind blew it forth. Ronan looked about for Anwen. He caught sight of her finally, kneeling in the ground, dripping wet. A Templar was tying up her hands behind her back.

"Use it!" Ronan shouted at her. _Use your damn magic!_ She looked up at him sorrowfully. She shook her head. He didn't know if she was crying or if it was the rain running down her face. He stalked over to her, his sword ready to swing at the Templar tying her up, but instead he was knocked forward into the ground from behind and found himself winded. A heavy boot slammed onto his back. He wanted to turn around onto his back and gut the bastard, but he couldn't breathe, and the Templar whom he had just been fighting inside pried his sword from his hand.

"You're lucky we didn't kill you all. You're lucky we are far from civilization," the Templar said with disdain, spitting blood onto the ground. "Otherwise, the whole lot of you would be thrown into prison for attacking us, for aiding an apostate. And that is exactly what will happen if you follow us."

Ronan heard the marching of the Templars out of the inn. He looked up at Anwen as she still sat kneeling on the ground, her head bowed, and her long blonde hair muddy at the tips. Gods he wished he could stand up. He couldn't let them take his sword. "Use it," he managed to gasp out.

"_Dareth shiral_," Anwen whispered before the Templar yanked her up. He pushed her toward the other mage captives. The Templar took his foot off of Ronan. Finally, he could breathe again. The rest of the Templars marched past him. One gave him a kick in the ribs and laughed.

As he clutched at his side in pain, he sat up, watching the Templars march away with their fancy armor and their captives. The rain had soaked him through. His hand felt empty without his sword. The sword his grandfather had crafted and had passed on to him. The bastards would pay for this. Elgar'nan would see that he got his revenge. Ronan himself would make sure of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Oh Maker, hear my cry. Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory, and let the world once more see Your favor, for You are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only Yours to give." Fritz sat on top of an overturned table and clutched at a dagger in his side, a painful expression on his face.

"You're not dying, Fritz." Vance said, slapping him in the face. "So shut the hell up."

Ronan walked into the hall, dripping wet and worst of all, he was swordless. He was ashamed. He had let them take his sword, take Anwen. Ursula appeared by his side, taking in the carnage in the hall of her inn. Tables were overturned, chairs were broken, things were scattered all over, and there was even a hole in the wall. Her serving girls rummaged through the mess, trying to straighten things out. At least nobody was dead, though there were a few blood stains. She stalked over to Vance and shoved him away from Fritz.

"Look at my business!" she hissed. The impact was heard around the room as her hand met Vance's cheek in a wicked slap.

"Sorry," Vance said, blocking another slap. He backed away from her cautiously.

"Who's going to pay for all this?" she asked, gesturing toward the mess of her hall.

"Sweetness…" Vance attempted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shoved him away.

"Don't you sweetness me."

"A little help here." Fritz gasped. Ursula turned to him in fury. She took hold of the dagger in his side and pulled it out. Fritz cried out in pain. Ursula snapped her fingers at one of her girls, who came rushing to Fritz's side to help him.

Chug leaned against a broken table, rubbing his fists. He didn't look any worse for wear, unlike Ty, who held a bloody cloth to his head.

"We're going to let them get away?" Ty asked.

Ursula turned on him angrily. "Fighting _Templars_ in my inn, how idiotic. And to think, they were better paying customers than the poor lot of you."

"Ursula's right, Ty, _Ronan_," Vance said, glaring at his little brother and then at Ronan. "That was very stupid. Very fucking stupid."

"To think, I still have a soft spot for you fools…" Ursula took one last look at the carnage in her hall, sighed, and then stalked up the stairs, pausing midway to holler. "This better be clean by the time I return."

"They took Anwen." Ty whined.

"They had the right. I don't know why we fought back." Vance grumbled.

"No, they did not."

"She was an apostate. She would have been caught sooner or later." Vance said, looking at Ty. "Not to mention she lied to us all along. We fought, we lost. Best forget her now."

"No!" Ty cried out. "I will not forget her. How could you? She fought by our side for a year. She was our friend. We have to get her back. We have to help her."

"You're nothing but a lovesick young fool." Vance retorted. "This is how the world works. Get over it and soon. I'll not have you whining and pining like a puppy all over the Free Marches."

"What if it were Ursula they took?"

Vance shook his head. "That would never happen, brother. Give up."

"What if it were your daughter?" Ty glared at Chug. Ronan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He was surprised to find out that Chug had a daughter.

Chug shrugged. "She is not a mage."

"But what if she was taken against her will?" Ty pushed. "Anwen was taken against her will. You saw her. She did not want to go."

"You know I'd kill anyone who did my daughter harm," Chug replied angrily. He was clearly insulted by the notion that he would let his daughter come to harm. "But Anwen, she lied to us…"

"Does it matter?" Ty turned pleadingly to Fritz, who still sat in pain, but had a serving girl to hold onto now. "Fritz?"

"Even if I were to agree with you, I can't be any help right now." Fritz managed to say.

"Give it up brother." Vance said sternly. "It's a lost cause. You saw with your own eyes that we cannot take on a group of Templars. Forget her."

Ty roared in frustration. "I'm not giving up. Who is with me?"

Vance shook his head pityingly at his little brother who looked so much like him except for the shape of his jaw and the color of his eyes. Ty turned to Ronan with a furious glare.

"What about _you_?" Ty asked with contempt. So, he had seen Anwen's little attempt at hiding. But Ronan didn't care about that. He only wanted his sword back. It was the most important thing he owned. The only thing that mattered.

"You might ask a little nicer." Ronan spat back. His patience was wearing thin. He should not even have come back into the inn. He should have left without with the _shems_, seeing as they were a bunch of cowards. But, deep down inside, he knew he couldn't get his sword back without help.

Ty threw an angry look at Ronan, but composed himself enough. "Will you help me, will you help Anwen?"

"I don't even like you, not even her. But…" Ronan walked closer to Ty, ignoring the shaking head and warning scowl of Vance. "…the bastards took my blade and I swear by Elgar'nan that I will get it back. If Anwen happens to be at arms' reach, then I will get her back too."

"Right," Ty grunted. "Your precious blade."

"There is no time to waste then junior. Let us be off."

Ty nodded and then walked over to the door with Ronan.

"You're an idiot." Vance called out. Ty stopped, spotted a jug on the floor, picked it up, and then threw it at his brother. Vance ducked and the jug hit the wall, shattering into pieces.

"Who's the coward now, brother?" Ty retorted. Ronan pushed him out of the inn quickly, spying the angry look on Vance's face, his fists bunched up at his sides.

"Wait," Fritz sputtered. He arose with help from the serving girl on his arm. Gripping his sword, he walked slowly toward Ronan, wincing in pain each time his right foot hit the ground. Vance and Chug watched him with curious expressions on their faces. Ronan wasn't sure what to expect. Did the man want to join them?

"Are you coming with us?" Ronan asked as Fritz reached him.

Fritz shook his head. "I'd be no use to you right now." He held out his sword to Ronan. "You lost your sword. Borrow mine."

Ronan hesitated as he checked out the sword. It was Ferelden made, old but sturdy. Fritz must have brought it with him across the sea all those years ago. He didn't want to accept it, but he did need a weapon. How else was he going to get his own blade back? Certainly not with his fist. Reluctantly, Ronan accepted the sword.

"_Ma serannas_," Ronan said.

"Make sure to get the bastard who stabbed me," Fritz said with a grin as he patted Ronan on the back weakly. "And, uh, watch over Ty. Maker watch over you both."

Ronan nodded and then left the inn, hearing nothing but Vance's curses.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ty walked with a purpose, striding through the mud, ignoring the rain. They were walking through the forest, stalking the party of Templars, though they had yet to catch up to them. As he walked behind, Ronan noticed that the string on Ty's bow was soaking wet. With a shake of his head, Ronan grabbed at Ty's arm, stopping him. Ty turned to him with fury in his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"You're letting your bowstring get wet." Ronan pointed at the bow strung over Ty's shoulder. "It will be useless when we catch up to the Templars."

"Then I'll use my dagger." Ty said. He began walking again.

"Two against two dozen." Ronan mused aloud. "I wonder what the odds are that we will take that battle."

"It doesn't matter what happened at the inn. It doesn't matter if we're two against a thousand, I will do anything to get Anwen back." Ty said from ahead. "Unlike you. All you care about is your precious blade."

Ronan sighed. That wasn't really true. He might have lied at the inn when he said he didn't like Ty or Anwen. The fact was, he'd grown a little fond of all the _shems_, even though he had doubts about running with them. He just didn't want to admit that out loud.

Ty pushed away a low hanging branch and let it swing right back into Ronan's arm, hitting him like a whip. "Hey, watch it."

Ty paused in his tracks and looked back at Ronan. "You kissed her."

Ronan wondered when the _halla_ turd would bring that up. Surprisingly, it was sooner rather than later. He had thought Ty would wait a little longer, seeing as he was quite cowardly. Though, the way he had stood up to his brother, that was priceless. Ronan would have liked to do the same to Tristan on a few occasions, throw a jug at his head and mock him for a coward, that is. Which reminded him, he still had to get him back for calling him "simple" on the ship… if he was still alive of course.

Ty stared at Ronan, waiting for him to respond. _Uh, what did he say again? Oh yeah, the kiss._ Ronan sighed. "Believe me, it was her idea."

"You knew I wanted her."

"Only too well."

"Then you knew she was mine."

"Was she now? Did you piss around her, marking her as your own?"

Ty glared at Ronan, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I thought so," Ronan said, grinning. "Look, she used me. If you had been there instead of me, instead of playing cards with the Templars, she would have used you instead."

"You're just saying that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, junior."

Ty let out a sigh of frustration. "What if it were Fritz, or Chug, or even Vance? Would she have done the same thing?"

Ronan shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know her as well as you do."

"She's not that kind of girl." Ty said sadly. He sighed loudly. "I knew it. I saw the way she looked at you. You're an elf, she's an elf. I should have seen it coming the moment you stepped foot into our campsite."

Ronan laughed. "You're a human, Chug is a human," Ronan swatted at his forehead in sarcasm. "Why haven't you two gotten together yet?"

Ty groaned. "Now you're just being stupid. That's not what I meant."

"Anwen and I are two very different people. For one I am Dalish. Secondly, she is a city elf and a mage. And thirdly, she is so damn shy. I like a woman with spirit, with feistiness." An image of Melisende flashed through his mind then, but Ronan quickly shoved it away. He didn't want to think of her right now.

"So you don't have feelings for her?" Ty asked.

"No I don't. I was helping her." Ronan replied. "For all the good that did."

What Ty should really be asking was if Anwen had feelings for Ronan. _The way she watched me, the stupid "plan". What am I thinking? I am nothing to anyone_.

Ty seemed to be reassured, but he still had a long face. "It was my fault. If I hadn't called out to her, the Templars wouldn't have noticed her."

"Bah, forget about it. I let her walk through the hall. I'm just as much at fault as you are."

"Then we will make it up to her. We will rescue her." Ty held out his arm to Ronan. Ronan clasped Ty's arm and nodded.

"By Elgar'nan I swear it."

Ty let go and started walking again. "Who is Elgar'nan anyway?"

"The god of vengeance."

"Ah, nice choice then." Ty ducked under a thick branch. "I can't believe you're the only one helping me."

"I can't believe it either."

…

At long last, the rain ceased. But the ground was still muddy and the sky was darkening into night. They had caught up to the Templars. They watched the marching column from atop a slight incline. Anwen marched between the two other captive mages, her head bowed, her hair damp, and her clothes muddy.

"They can't treat her like that." Ty fumed. Ronan was afraid he'd have to hold him back. Now wasn't the time to attack. They were wet and tired, and the Templars seemed to think it wasn't yet time to stop.

"They can and they will." Ronan said nonchalantly. He crouched behind a tree and looked carefully at the Templars. He found what he was looking for – his sword. The Templar who had ripped it from his hands held it still. Like Ty, he fumed. He almost wanted to attack then and there but thought better of it. Instead, he stood up and kicked at the mud. "Once upon a time, I could take all of them out in seconds with a bow and a few arrows."

Ty looked at him in slight disbelief. "Yeah, right."

Ronan frowned. He was insulted. Ronan had been great with a bow. He was one of the better hunters in his clan. Not the best, but somewhere at the top. He certainly couldn't aim better than his mother, but it was still better than any _shem_. Besides, he had always been better with a sword and shield. And what did Ty know anyway?

"What happened, anyway?" Ty gestured towards Ronan's left arm. "I mean, how did you lose your hand?"

Ronan considered Ty's question with narrowed eyes as the column of Templars got further away. Finally, he decided to indulge the _shem_. Why not? "A qunari giant sliced it off." He looked at his stump wearily. "As easily as if it were a piece of cheese."

"In one swing?" Ty asked with an incredulous look on his face. He looked at his own hands and failed at suppressing a shudder.

Ronan nodded. "In one swing."

"That must've hurt like hell."

Ronan shrugged. "What's done is done." _What's done is done_. He was surprised at his own reply. He didn't think he would ever get over losing his hand. But maybe he finally had. It still hurt sometimes, but that was physical pain. He hadn't bemoaned the loss of his hand for a little while now, well, at least for a week, though he sorely wished that he had had the use of a shield against the Templars. If they had been out to kill, he'd be nothing but a rotting corpse by now. He needed a shield like the old days, one that he could fit to his arm without it sliding off or rotating around. He would have to think on this idea a bit more.

"I'm surprised you didn't die." Ty said. "I once had a friend in Darktown who was caught thieving from a magistrate. The city guard caught him and the magistrate demand he be punished, by cutting off his hand. He bled so much, the punisher did such a poor job of hacking off the hand, that he died that same day."

"I got lucky. I guess Falon'din was on my side." Ronan thought of Tristan. His brother had used healing magic on him. Maybe attributing his existence to luck was wrong, but who knew? He might have survived even without the magic. He would never know. He glanced at the marching Templars. They were off in the distance now. "We should keep up with them."

Snapping noises and rustling leaves caused them to shift their attention to the bushes behind them. They were both shocked to see Chug and Vance come stumbling into their view. Vance glared at his brother.

"Tybalt Roderick Llewellyn," Vance hollered as he neared Ty, "mother would arise from her grave, Maker rest her poor soul, to kill me if I let you go after these Templars."

"Then let her, unless…" Ty looked questioningly at Vance.

"We're here to help." Vance answered. "You've shamed us enough to come to our senses."

"Fritz?" Ty asked.

"He's licking his wounds at Ursula's. Or rather, the serving girl is licking his wounds." Chug explained with a laugh. "But he'll catch up later."

"How will he know where to go?" Ty asked, and then looked behind him at the disappearing Templars. "We have to go. We can't let them get away."

"Think about it real hard, brother." Vance said with a grin while tapping a finger on his head. "Where is the only other Circle of Magi in the Free Marches?"

Ty widened his eyes in realization. "Kirkwall. They're going to Kirkwall. So we needn't trail them. We know they're going to the Gallows. We can even beat them there."

"That's right." Vance patted his brother on the back of his head. "It's nice to know you still have some sort of brain in there."

"And what do we do when we're in Kirkwall? Won't it be harder to rescue her from there?" Ronan asked.

Vance shrugged. "I'm sure we'll think of something by then."

Ronan rolled his eyes in irritation. He hoped these _shems_ knew what they were doing. By the looks of her in the possession of the Templars, Anwen didn't look like she would last too long. She might be broken forever if they didn't get her away from them. But most importantly, he needed to get his blade back.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ronan and Ty had camped outside of the city, awaiting the arrival of the Templars. When at long last they spotted the column of Templars with their mage prisoners, they made their way to Kirkwall. Vance and Chug had already made their way into the city. They sent a raggedy little boy to fetch them and then made their way to the docks, where they took a rickety little boat to the Gallows. Ronan actually found himself grumbling at the price of passage, which put him in an irritated mood.

But that was not all that irritated him. They were going to beat the Templars to the Gallows, sure, but they had no idea what they were going to do once there. They hadn't thought of anything, hadn't come up with any sort of plan. All they could say and all they could agree on was how much they were going to enjoy running through the Templars.

As they reached the Gallows courtyard, however, Ronan shook his head in disgust. There were too many people here, too many other Templars. As much as he wanted to just go berserk on them all, it wouldn't work. Ty stood beside a column, looking anxious and fidgeting, irritating Ronan even more. He turned his attention to a weapon's stall, the glint of steel catching his eye. There was still time before the Templars arrived so he went over to it.

"Let me see your shields." Ronan demanded as he reached the stall. The merchant looked him over curiously, a haughty look on his face. His eyes rested momentarily on Ronan's stump.

"What do you need a shield for?" the merchant mocked him.

"Do you always treat your customers thus?" Ronan retorted, angrily, annoyed and disgusted by the merchant. Why did they always seem to give him a hard time? If it were Melisende standing here, the man would fall all over himself to impress her.

"Not the good paying ones. The likes of you, however…" the merchant said, grabbing at his ears mockingly. "… well, everyone knows that elves never pay their debts."

Ronan regarded the merchant as calmly as he could. He pictured his fist connecting with the man's face, turning it into a bloody mess. A mischievous smirk crept over his face and the merchant gave him a puzzled look.

"Unless you want me to utter an old _elven_ curse on you and see your manhood shrivel up into nothing, I suggest you show me your shields." Ronan threatened. The merchant eyed him suspiciously, considering the threat. Closing his eyes, Ronan began to speak in a monotonous chant. "_Melava inan enansal, ir su araval…_"

"Stop it! Stop that right now!" the merchant waved his hands in Ronan's face. "I'll show you the damned shields."

Feeling the air from these movements, Ronan stopped chanting and opened his eyes. "A wise choice, _shem_." He hadn't been chanting a curse, only reciting a part of a song his mother had taught him. Ronan smiled. It wasn't his fault if the merchant didn't know any better.

Grumbling, the merchant dug around behind his stall and stacked some shields onto the surface. Ronan looked at each one carefully. He needed one that could easily be molded to fit his arm and one that was not too heavy, for he hadn't really been using his left arm much since he lost his hand. He didn't know how much weight he could lift. He pointed to a small round shield made of steel.

"28 silvers, 3 bits." The merchant said. That was a lot of coin. More than he wanted to spend.

"How about 20 silvers even." Ronan countered.

"No," the merchant shook his head. "That is too low, take it or leave it."

"I wasn't really asking." Ronan said. "_Melava inan enansal, ir su araval tu elvaral, u na emma…_"

The merchant groaned and sent Ronan a furious look, but he relented, shoving the shield toward Ronan and muttering about elves. Ronan chuckled all the way to Ty, who still stood restless by a column.

"I wish Vance and Chug were here." Ty whined. "How are we supposed to do anything without them?"

Ronan doubted they could do anything _with_ Chug and Vance either, but he kept his doubts to himself. Ty would figure it out soon enough for himself, if he didn't already see it. "Right now, we can only make sure she gets here. And my blade."

"And then what?" Ty grumbled.

Ronan shrugged. Vance and Chug finally came trotting through the courtyard toward them, as if talking of them had conjured them up. They came to a stop in the shadows, Chug rubbing his belly and Vance taking in their surroundings with a frown.

"I don't like our chances." Vance said. "Making a commotion in the courtyard, in broad daylight, with all these Templars around, including the Knight Captain, this is not a good idea."

"But… we have to try." Ty said, though it seemed as if he was resigned to doing nothing.

"Maybe we should have gotten some of these mages on our side…" Ronan said, nodding towards the few mages in the courtyard.

Vance shook his head. "No. If they're in the courtyard, they must be Templar ass lickers."

The sound of marching feet rang through their thoughts. The group of Templars that had kicked their asses at the inn came trudging through the courtyard at long last. They had a few more mages with them than the last time they had seen them. Anwen stood among them, being marched forward. At the sight of her Ty nearly burst forward out of the shadows, but Vance gripped his arm fiercely and held him back.

"I don't think you want to be recognized brother, unless you want to spend some time in prison." Vance warned stiffly before letting go of his arm. Ty glared at his brother, rubbed his arm where Vance had gripped him, but did not run out.

Ronan whistled as he used to when he wanted Ash to come out from hiding. Anwen looked up and spotted them, and then quickly lowered her head back down.

"What was that?" Vance snarled.

"Just giving the girl a little positive encouragement." Ronan replied. "She looks like she needs it."

"Giving her false hope, more likely." Vance grumbled.

The column of Templars and mage captives disappeared around a corner. Ronan realized he had forgotten to look out for his blade, but he was sure that he had seen the Templar who had taken it from him.

"We didn't do anything." Ty grumbled.

"This whole thing is starting to look stupidly impossible." Ronan muttered to himself.

"Let's pay a visit to the Blooming Rose, eh?" Vance said, turning Ty toward the exit. They all began to march down the steps and toward the boats that would return them to the city. "That'll make you feel better."

Ty shrugged him off. "Let's pay a visit to the Coterie."

Chug bellowed loudly. "You are one crazy kid."

Vance took the statement more seriously. He gripped his brother by the back of the neck and shoved him forward toward the water. "We don't want to be indebted to them. You have to face it, Anwen is lost to us."

"Anwen is the only woman I want. I'm not giving up. I will find a way to free her." Ty broke away from Vance and sat sullenly in the boat. Vance shook his head and then turned his attention to Ronan.

"And you still want your blade back." Vance said crossly. He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Come to _me_ when you think of something, not to Ty. He's reckless and likely to get himself thrown in prison or killed. Though Maker knows, you're no better."

Ronan stared at Vance with a frown. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Just do as I say my Dalish friend." Vance sat in the boat, rocking it lightly.

"Fine," Ronan said, though he didn't think he would actually do as Vance said. Chug was about to join Vance, but was stopped by Ronan. "Chug, wait for the next one? I need your help."

Chug took one look at the small boat, the little room on it and the angry pair of brothers and quickly nodded his agreement.

…

"So, do you think you can do it? Can you hammer the handle down to fit my arm?" Ronan asked Chug once they were back at the docks. He held out the shield to the big man. Chug took the shield, examined it unemotionally and then cracked a big smile, showing his crooked teeth.

"I'll need a smaller hammer, but I can do something." Chug motioned towards the warehouses. "I know a few fellows there who could lend me one."

They made their way to the shady looking warehouses, which turned out to be nothing but actual warehouses, much to Ronan's surprise. He thought they might have been hiding places for roving gangs or safe houses for raiders they were so dilapidated. But the fellows there were regular run of the mill sailors and dock workers and they did know Chug. They lent him a hammer and he set to work on the handle.

Ronan really hoped this would work. He missed fighting with a shield; it threw his whole game off the few times he had fought since losing his hand. He held back more than he should, worrying about his unprotected left arm. He could maybe wear some sort of arm guard, but he wasn't used to fighting in heavy armour. The shield was what he needed. He may have been able to get away without one when fighting simple thugs and thieves, but against Templars? He was lucky he even had the chance to get revenge on them.

If he had enough coin, Ronan could get a replacement hand. He had seen a man wearing one before. But the man had looked noble and rich. Besides, Ronan didn't even know where to get such a thing. Hammering down the shield's handle to fit his arm was his only option right now.

Chug hammered a few times, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. The hammer clanged as it hit the handle and sparks flew as metal hit metal. Chug stopped and held out the shield to Ronan. Ronan wrapped a piece of cloth around his forearm just below the wrist and pushed his arm through the handle. It went too far up. That wouldn't do. He couldn't have it moving around when he moved or when it was struck. It needed to be tighter, but not so tight that he couldn't get it off.

"A little more, Chug." He handed the shield back to the big man and Chug went at it again. When next he paused, the shield fit snugly around his forearm. He moved his arm around and the shield held in place. The thing was heavy as he hadn't used his arm much, but he would get used to it soon enough.

"Good?" Chug asked, scratching his beard.

"We'll see how it fares in battle," Ronan replied, "but for now, it is good. Thank you Chug."

Chug slapped him on the back in reply and Ronan almost fell over. Chug laughed. "No problem Ronan, anytime! Now, shall we head to the Rose?"

The Blooming Rose. The brothel. The last time he had been in Kirkwall with the others was before they headed north. Vance liked to hang out at the place and dragged everyone with him there. It was better than staying at home in Darktown, he would say. Ronan didn't particularly like the place, but it was a nice place to rest, once he brushed away the whores and even some of the customers. _Stupid shems seem to think I am a prostitute_. He narrowed his eyes in disgust at the memory of a fop trying to feel him up. That fop would not make that mistake again, for Ronan had punched him in the face so hard, the man had fallen over a chair and hit his head. "For now I will go to that place."

Chug laughed, probably remembering the same incident Ronan was thinking of. "Then let's go."

They walked along the docks, Ronan feeling good about having a shield at his back again. Now all he needed was his sword. Chug headed towards a narrow set of steps. Ronan wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, lost in his thoughts, thinking about how to get his blade and Anwen back. But from the corner of his eyes, he spotted the compound and the monster that guarded it. He stopped in his tracks and glared at the large Qunari. He had heard they were in the city but had yet to see them.

For a moment he was back on the ship, fighting against the Qunari that took his hand from him, that set him on this path away from his clan, away from everything he ever knew. Instinctively, he felt for his sword, only it was Fritz's sword.

"You coming?" Chug asked from the steps.

The Qunari that had done this to him was dead. Not by his blade, but he was dead nonetheless. This Qunari standing by the compound was nothing to him. He turned to Chug and nodded. That was in the past; the battle against the Templars, that was his future. He needed only to come up with a way to make it happen.

As he walked up the steps, he thought of the pirate lady, Isabela. Perhaps she knew someone who knew something about how to go about breaking someone out of the Gallows. She looked like the type to know of these things. He stored that information in the back of his mind and grudgingly followed Chug to the Blooming Rose.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The Hanged Man was as it had been the last time Ronan had been there. The same bartender, the same awful ale, and the same drunks scattered about the room. All was the same, except she wasn't there. _Melisende_, he thought with a sudden pang. _Did you really mean it? Am I nothing?_

Ronan glanced around the room and found an empty seat. He didn't really want to be there, but Isabela might know something that could help Anwen. He realized though, that Isabela wasn't there. _Just my luck_.

He leaned back in his chair and wondered what to do. This task of getting back his sword and rescuing Anwen at the same time was getting to be rather impossible. _Stupidly impossible_. But he wasn't going to give up any time soon. Ronan wished Melisende were around, she would know what to do. He sighed loudly. He should really stop thinking of her; she probably meant what she said. _Shems_ were like that, they looked down on elves.

Norah the serving girl noticed him and came over to his side. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Where can I find Isabela?" Ronan asked, sitting up straight.

Norah frowned. "She's usually here, but she started a brawl that carried into the streets. She'll likely be spending some time in the jail."

Ronan sighed again. _Just my luck_.

Norah seemed to think he didn't believe her. "That's a couple of her friends over there. Ask them if you don't believe me." Norah pointed to a pair of women at the next table and then sauntered off. Ronan scrutinized the pair of women closely. One was a _shem_ with jet black hair pulled messily back into a ponytail and icy blue eyes. The other woman was one of the people with short black hair and green eyes. His curiousity piqued, Ronan edged closer to their table, though not so close that they would notice him. He did not want to talk to them yet, he only wanted to hear what they were saying, to see if they were trustworthy.

"It's a good thing I had the brilliance to bring Anders to the expedition, otherwise Carver would be nothing more than some creature's supper," said the _shem_.

"Hawke!" the Dalish woman exclaimed. The woman named Hawke shrugged.

"Don't act so surprised Merrill, it's the truth. I wouldn't have known how to find the Grey Wardens if Anders hadn't been there. And then Carver would have died."

"Then it is a good thing that Anders was there. I will miss Carver though." The Dalish woman named Merrill had a sad expression on her face.

Hawke sighed. "I will miss that feather brained oaf of a brother too, but he's alive. And a Grey Warden too! Imagine, my little brother a Grey Warden. Who would've thought?"

_Grey Wardens?_ They cannot be speaking of the ones he knew, could they? And the name they kept mentioning, Anders, that sounded vaguely familiar to Ronan. He had met a Grey Warden by that name before, now that he thought about it. _Anders, Anders…_ wasn't he the one in command when he went to fetch Tristan from the Keep? Perhaps this Anders could aid him? It was time, then, to introduce himself to these friends of Isabela.

Ronan stood up, went over to their table, and took a seat uninvited. The _shem_ named Hawke gave him a look.

"Yes, please, do sit down," she said. Ronan ignored that comment and turned to the Dalish woman named Merrill.

"_Andaran a'tishan_," he greeted her. She seemed surprised to see him.

"_Andaran a'tishan, Ro'nan_." Merrill said in reply. Ronan flinched.

"You know me?" he asked.

"You know this lout?" Hawke asked at almost the same time. Ronan frowned at the woman and she frowned back.

"You are Keeper Silas's son. I was Keeper Marethari's apprentice. Our clans met in passing once." Merrill explained.

Ronan remembered now, though he didn't really remember Merrill. "Right, that cursed _eluvian_. Your clan found it first, and lost two hunters to it."

Merrill recoiled at the mention of the mirror, but she nodded anyway. That mirror had also made some of his clan sick. It was also that mirror that brought Tristan to the clan. A lot of things might be different were it not for that cursed _eluvian_.

"Why are you not with your clan?" Ronan asked, curious that Merrill had said that she _was_ Marethari's apprentice.

"Why are you not with your clan?" Hawke butt in protectively. Ronan narrowed his eyes in Hawke's direction. The woman was annoying.

"None of your business, _shem_ named Hawke." Ronan snarled back at the woman. She stared at him challengingly. For a split second, he was reminded of Melisende, but he shook the memory away as fast as it had appeared. He didn't need her distracting his mind again.

"Please, you did not come here to pick a fight, did you?" Merrill asked, placing a timid hand on Ronan's forearm to calm him.

Ronan shook his head and backed away from Merrill's hand. "No, I did not. I came looking for Isabela, but I overheard you speaking of Grey Wardens and Anders."

"Spying on us?" Hawke asked. "Not very good at it, are we? You know, when you spy, you're not supposed to come out and say it."

"Woman, you are giving me a headache."

"Am I? I'm _so sorry_. You poor thing." Hawke said sarcastically. She crossed her arms over chest. "I could give you a whole lot worse than a headache…"

"What did you want with Isabela?" Merrill cut in quickly.

Ronan wanted to answer Hawke back, but then thought better about it. He might need their help and he doubted they'd give it if he gave Hawke a piece of his mind. He turned to Merrill instead. "Isabela seemed like the type to know things about the city."

"You mean, like a guide?" Merrill asked. "She was quite helpful to me when I first came here. I was always getting lost in people's courtyards in Hightown. But then, Varric was just as helpful."

"No, I mean, like how to break someone out of the Gallows." Ronan said, maybe a little too loudly for he received a large shush from Hawke.

"Explain yourself." Hawke demanded.

Ronan considered the woman. Should he trust her? She was apparently a friend of Isabela's. And he was quite ready to trust that woman, though the gods only knew why. Because Melisende had known her? Well, on the other hand, he'd already blurted out in his impatience that he wanted to break someone out of the Gallows. There was not much more he could say that would put him in jeopardy. "A friend was taken against her will to the Gallows. In the process, the Templars also took my sword. I want both of them back."

"Messing with Templars is very delicate and dangerous." Hawke said. As if he didn't know that already.

"Anwen is delicate. My blade is dangerous, and the Templars have them both." Ronan repeated through gritted teeth. He was losing any patience he had left in him.

"You asked about Anders…" Merrill began, but Hawke stopped her.

"I met him once, at Vigil's Keep. I thought he might be able to help, once I found out Isabela was in the jail."

Hawke looked about suspiciously and leaned forward, closer to Ronan, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Well, I am not without sympathy to your friend's plight, and believe it or not, Anders is the perfect man to help you, though he likes to think I am completely oblivious to his doings."

Ronan leaned closer in turn. "Then take me to him, Hawke."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"So how do you know Isabela anyway? Were you just another one of her conquests? Another one of her little romps below decks?" Hawke asked Ronan as she led him through the Undercity, more specifically the slum called Darktown. The old mining tunnels were musty, bleak, and the air was stale. Ronan caught a glimpse of a rat or two tottering in the shadows. He wondered why anyone would even live down there.

Ronan looked at Hawke askance. "Gods, no."

"Then how?"

"Friend of a friend." _Or something like that_. Melisende had not really treated Isabela like a friend, but a little embellishment never hurt anyone.

An elf merchant nodded to Hawke as they passed his stall. Hawke returned the gesture and carried on. She walked confidently, unafraid of the dangers that lurked in the corners. A few other people nodded to Hawke or greeted her in passing. Ronan found himself wondering about Hawke. She must be some kind of big shot, at least in the Undercity, for so many people to know her by name. Perhaps it was good that he found her at the Hanged Man.

"Why does Anders hide out in Darktown?" Ronan asked as he took in his surroundings. Pieces of ripped and torn fabric hung from the walls, held up by sticks to create makeshift roofs. _A roof?_ Ronan thought, _why would anyone need a roof down here?_ He held back a shudder. The underground was not his favorite place to be.

"You don't know?" Hawke asked suspiciously. "You met him before, yet you don't know?"

"It was a brief meeting. I had other concerns on my mind than who I was talking to."

Hawke sighed. "Anders is an apostate and a rebel Warden."

"Oh, well, he wasn't exactly shooting lightning bolts in the sky when I met him. And he wasn't a rebel Warden."

"What was he doing?"

Ronan looked at Hawke curiously. "He had just bowed out of a drinking contest with the other Wardens. I was unimpressed by that sorry lot."

Hawke turned a corner, looking thoughtful. She had a mischievous grin on her face, like she was up to something. Ronan followed closely, noticing the walls of the tunnels were painted with the same tortured looking humans as in the Hanged Man. _Slaves?_ He'd learnt a little more about Kirkwall since he first came there; it had been a centre of the slave trade, or so Ty had told him something like that.

They passed raggedly dressed, haggard looking _shems_ and flat ears. They guarded their corners of space with weary eyes. A few children lingered around, playing in the dirt. Other _shems_ warmed their hands by fires. It was a little cool down there, Ronan had to admit, at least compared to the above.

_So, this is where Vance and Ty grew up? No wonder they left_.

Hawke led him down a set of creaky stairs. The wooden planks wobbled a little as Ronan made his way down them. There was a large opening to the outside world to their right. Ronan could see nothing but cliffs, but if he looked high enough, he could see the sky. The wind howled loudly in this spot, clearing the air of the smoke from the fires.

"Tell me more about this friend of yours, stuck in the Gallows." Hawke said, pausing before another set of steps, steps that went up. "Anwen was her name?"

"Why do you care?"

Hawke looked affronted. "I have a lot more experience with magic than you think. Don't think I don't care about what happens to mages."

"Fine." Ronan shrugged. "Anwen is… quiet. I honestly don't know that much about her, really. I only know what little she told me, that she was in the Starkhaven Circle, that she broke free during the fire, and that she has been an apostate until not long ago."

"And you want to help her?" Hawke looked doubtfully at Ronan.

"I want my blade back, mostly." Ronan answered.

"How sweet of you." Hawke rolled her eyes.

"At first, I only wanted my blade back." Ronan said thoughtfully. "Then Ty went all preachy on every one of us. If she doesn't want to be there, then she shouldn't be there. I have to help her."

"Ty?"

He cursed himself inwardly. He shouldn't have mentioned Ty. Could he really trust Hawke? "Bah, I've said too much. Why should I trust you anyway? For all I know you could be leading me into a trap."

Hawke stared at him for a moment. Ronan grew uncomfortable under her gaze. And then she held up her hand. Ronan instinctively backed away as a glowing blue energy emerged from her palm. He tilted his head toward her questioningly.

"I told you I have experience with magic." Hawke said with a self satisfied grin.

"How is it that you are free?" Ronan asked curiously.

"My whole life has been one long escape story." Hawke's grin washed away as quickly as it had come. She turned her gaze to the ground. "My father was a mage and so was my little sister. He taught us how to use our magic, told us it was a gift. I never could understand though, why we had to hide it, why we had to run away from the Templars all the time if it was such a gift. And then he died and then the Blight came. We ran away from that and my sister died. Now, here in Kirkwall, I've been lucky."

"You've never been a part of the Circle?"

Hawke shook her head. "No. Anders's constant whining tells me that it is a good thing."

"You don't believe him?"

Hawke shrugged. "Now I have said too much. Before I take you further, why should I trust you? Because you are a friend of a friend of a friend?"

"Is that not enough?"

"Considering that friend, Isabela, is not available to confirm what you say, for the moment at least, no, it is not enough."

Ronan considered. He was so close to Anders. He didn't need Hawke. He could find Anders on his own. But if Hawke was friends with Anders, it might be useful to have her around. What could he say, though, to convince her that his intentions were good? Then he remembered what she had said about her brother.

"We have something in common, you and I." he said.

Hawke arched her brow in surprise. "Do we now? Please, do tell."

"You said your brother is a Grey Warden. My brother is, uh, was a Grey Warden too."

"And that should make me trust you, because?"

"My brother was a mage too."

"By the Maker! I can't believe it!" Hawke raised up her hands in mockery. "Then we should surely be the best of friends now!"

Ronan shook his head in irritation. "I don't know what else to say to convince you I am not a threat to your precious Anders."

Hawke bit her lower lip and bunched her brows in anger. "I am just going to ignore that precious Anders comment."

"Then let's go."

Ronan made to move ahead, but Hawke held out an arm to block him from going any further.

"Wait. You said your brother _was_ a mage, and _was_ a Grey Warden."

Ronan nodded. "_Was_."

"He passed away?"

"Maybe." Ronan shrugged.

"Are you being evasive or are you telling the truth?"

"The truth is I don't know what happened to him. He may be dead."

"Then we have more in common. You lost a brother, I lost a sister."

"Great, now that we have that out of the way, let's go see Anders." Ronan said impatiently.

Hawke turned around, took a few steps up the stairs, and then paused again. Ronan sighed. He was getting terribly impatient now.

"What is it now?" he asked.

"You are from Ferelden. You met Anders at Vigil's Keep. Did your brother know the Hero of Ferelden? Anders served under the man for a while."Hawke asked, watching him closely. "Did _you_ meet the Hero of Ferelden?"

Ronan closed his eyes and cursed in his head. Why was everyone so obsessed with the Hero of Ferelden? So what if he killed an archdemon? Ronan didn't usually admit this to anyone unless they directly asked, but nobody ever did, because he was an elf and the Hero of Ferelden wasn't, so nobody ever suspected, but he did so now. "The Hero of Ferelden is my brother."

Hawke looked at him in disbelief and even let out a little chuckle.

"I don't care if you don't believe me." Ronan bunched up his fist. Why wouldn't Hawke just shut up? He was getting rather irritated by her interrogation. "Just take me to Anders already."

"The Hero is human. You, my pointy eared friend, are an elf."

"Oh, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"Well, now I can't trust you at all. You just lied to my face. And what a ridiculous lie." Hawke continued to laugh. "If anyone is related to the Hero, it would be me. My mother is an Amell."

"The Hero and I share a mother."

Hawke grasped onto the wall, and made an effort to stop laughing. "I suppose that is possible."

"I don't care what you think. I never even liked the big oaf. Just take me to Anders already."

Hawke looked at him with barely suppressed mirth. "Fine, fine. I guess you're harmless enough. And you know what? I like you after all. You remind me of Carver."

Ronan shook his head. _Harmless? _He'd show her what harmless could do if it weren't for Anwen and his lost blade. "Well I don't like you."

Hawke laughed again and then finally marched up the steps, stopping before two wooden doors. "Anders is in there, in his clinic."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Anders's clinic was just as musty and bleak as the rest of Darktown, but somehow, the smell of herbs overpowered it all. A little bit of sunshine streamed into the room from a series of small windows. Tattered old cots rested around the room, occupied and vacant. The poor, sick folks of Kirkwall lay, sat, or stood around the room, suppressing coughs, letting out coughs, clutching their heads, their bellies, or whatever in slight pain or outright agony.

Ronan followed Hawke to the back of the room. Pity welled up inside of him for these poor, sick folk, even if they were _shems_. It was not so long ago that his own mother had nearly died of sickness. The sudden thought of family sent an ache through his left arm. He couldn't help but wince at the sharp pain. To his regret, Hawke noticed. She arched a brow questioningly toward him.

"It's nothing," he said, waving away her concern. "Where is Anders?"

A blonde man in a long coat arose from the side of a sick person. He turned to Ronan and Hawke with a look of surprise. "Hawke?"

"Anders," Hawke replied. "I've brought you somebody. Ronan. He says he knows you."

Hawke nodded toward Ronan and Anders shifted his attention to Ronan. He studied Ronan closely with a thoughtful look on his face. Ronan felt slightly uncomfortable for some odd reason.

"I never said I _knew_ him." Ronan muttered.

"Whatever." Hawke said. "He also said he is the brother to the Hero of Ferelden."

Ronan sighed. What did all this matter? He just wanted to get to the root of the matter, to why he was here. There was only so much time before Ty did something stupid, before Anwen lost herself in the Circle of Magi, and most importantly, before his sword ended up in someone else's hands.

"You know, Hawke," Anders fingered his chin in thought as he scrutinized Ronan some more. "I do think I've met this man before. Though he never said anything about being the Commander's brother, only that he was looking for him."

"It didn't matter then and it doesn't matter now." Ronan grumbled. He stared defiantly at Hawke. "Believe me or not, I am his brother. Let's just get on with this."

"I see the resemblance." Anders said much to Hawke's surprise. "The physical resemblance at least. It's those eyes, they are the exact same as Tristan's. But he is much more patient and polite than you are. You still haven't learned manners. At least you didn't sneak your way in this time."

Hawke laughed.

Ronan couldn't take her insolence anymore. "This was a waste of time." He turned away and started to walk out. He felt Hawke grab at his arm and shook her away.

"Stay. I'm leaving." Hawke said. "I promised Fenris I'd pay him a visit by day's end, even though I think I've had enough elf brooding to last me a week at least."

Ronan ignored Hawke and turned his attention to Anders who was frowning as Hawke sauntered out of his clinic with an oblivious and friendly "See you later, Anders."

"So," Anders finally said after a moment, "what is it that you just wanted to get on with?"

Now that he had Anders's attention, Ronan wasn't sure where to begin. Should he start with Anwen being dragged away by the Templars? What about all these people in the clinic? Could they be trusted? He eyed the room suspiciously and Anders noticed what he was doing.

"Something dangerous?" Anders asked.

"Most likely. Can we speak privately?"

Anders moved toward a corner and gestured for Ronan to follow. "If we speak softly, nobody will hear. So what is this about? Is it Melisende? She was here not long ago. She told me about the shipwreck. She didn't know if Tristan had survived it."

Ronan flinched at the mention of her name. It threw his thoughts into disarray and for a moment he forgot what he was there for.

"I'm sorry, did you not know about that?" Anders asked through the silence.

"I knew about it. I… that's not what I'm here for." Ronan fought to compose himself and his thoughts. Why couldn't he stop thinking of Melisende? He was here for Anwen, for his blade. They were the only things that mattered now.

"So what are you here for? I have a room full of patients waiting for me, in case you haven't noticed." Anders looked a little impatient now.

"So," Ronan said, getting a grip on things, "a bunch of Templars walked into the inn…"

"Wait a minute," Anders interrupted. "Did Varric and Hawke put you up to this?"

"What?" Ronan asked, confused. "Varric? What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," Anders said. "It just sounded like the beginning of another one of his Templar jokes. Continue."

Ronan sent Anders a curious look before he opened his mouth again. "As I was saying, a bunch of Templars walked into the inn where a couple of friends and I were staying. One of these friends was an apostate. One of the Templars recognized her, arrested her, and now she is in the Gallows. I want her back and I want my blade which one of the bastards took from my hands, back."

Anders said nothing for a moment. He paced back and forth in that small corner of his clinic and Ronan watched him quietly. Was Anders always this… crazy? The look on his face was murderous. Had Ronan been right to come to him?

"You've come to the right place." Anders said, abruptly halting his pacing. Had the man just read his mind, or was it just a coincidence?

"Good." Ronan said.

"Mages deserve better than to be locked up, treated like slaves." Anders began to pace around again. "For all the chantry says, it should not be this way. Andraste did not preach for slavery. She ended that and preached for freedom, for all man. Are mages not included in that?"

_Shem'lin tales?_ Ronan wasn't sure if Anders was asking a rhetorical question or not, so he just nodded his agreement, impatient to get to the details. But Anders didn't notice and kept pacing around, muttering to himself.

"The Circle goes against everything Andraste preached. Freedom is a natural right for every man, woman, and child born in Thedas. Who gives them the right to lock up mages? Magic is a gift of the Maker, it is sacrilege to treat it otherwise."

Ronan stood awkwardly by as Anders ranted. When would this tirade end?

"The chantry twists the words of Andraste. _Magic is to serve man, never to rule over him_. They use it as an excuse to lock us up. And the way some mages are treated in the Circle; beaten or raped, they are no better than slaves to Templars. The Rite of Tranquility is even worse. It's that or death for many mages."

_Beatings? Rape? _Ronan himself was worked up into a rage now. That couldn't happen to Anwen, could it? She was a docile woman; she wouldn't give the Templars reason to beat her, would she? But rape? She may have a scar on her face, but the rest of her was tempting enough for any man. And what of the Rite of Tranquility Anders spoke of?

"Anders," Ronan said stiffly. Anders stopped pacing and turned his attention to Ronan. "All these things you speak of, the beatings, the rape, can it happen? And what is this Rite?"

"I was in the Circle Tower of Ferelden for some time. Nothing like that ever happened to me, but I escaped seven times and was brought back seven times." Anders explained with a wistful expression which soon turned to a hard one. "Here in Kirkwall it is different. The Templars are tougher, they have more clout. There is no king to give mercy to apostates. There is only the chantry, and every apostate must be a blood mage, according to them. The Rite of Tranquility takes away a mages feelings, turns him into a person with no emotions, no desires, they might as well not be a person."

Ronan couldn't imagine such a thing happening. Was it even possible to become a person with no feelings, no emotions? "They wouldn't do this to my friend, would they?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath." Anders replied. "Tell me about your friend."

"Her name is Anwen. She is an elf." Ronan paused as he tried to think of what to say. "She can shapeshift, but she seemed reluctant to use any other kind of magic. She never told me why. Perhaps she couldn't control it as well."

"To shapeshift requires a lot of focus. Anwen must be strong. But they don't generally teach that stuff in the Circle. If her other magic is uncontrollable, I fear they might just consider the Rite of Tranquility for her."

"No," Ronan shook his head. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Anwen could control her magic. "I won't let them do that to her."

"Then there is no time to waste." Anders nodded. "Me and a group of mages rescue mages from the Gallows. It is difficult, but not altogether impossible."

"How do you do it?" Ronan asked. "How have you not been caught already?"

"By being very quiet. You must promise to keep everything we do and tell you a secret. The lives of many mages are at stake here."

"I am good at keeping secrets."

Anders stared at him with consideration.

"I promise." Ronan said in reassurance.

"The first thing we have to do is get word to your friend Anwen. There are some contacts within the Gallows, so that shouldn't be a problem. She must do the rest. She must go to the dungeons at the appointed time. That is where I will be waiting."

"And me."

"Fine, that is where _we_ will be waiting. There is a secret passageway, used mostly by lyrium smugglers, from the Undercity to the dungeons of the Gallows. We've recently used it to help mages escape. Not many people know about it, not even the Templars, except for the ones with lyrium addled brains, but they can be dealt with."

"That easy?"

"Many things could go wrong. If we encounter Templars, for example, we must kill them all. We cannot compromise the secret passageway."

"I will savour that moment if it comes."

Anders smiled. "I like you."

"What about my blade? I intend to get it back. If I have to sneak into the Gallows to do it, then I will."

Anders shook his head. "No. It is too risky."

"It is important to me. I will go in alone, once Anwen is recovered."

"You would die for a blade?"

"It is not just any blade. It was given to me by my grandfather."

Anders sighed. "I suppose if you are careful and keep the passageway a secret, then you can run headlong into danger if you want to. I won't stop you. I owe your brother a lot. He did save me from another trip to the Circle Tower."

Ronan frowned and ignored the comment about his brother. "Anwen has more friends who would help."

"Are they trustworthy?"

"Yes." Ronan answered without a doubt, without a blink of the eye. _The humans are trustworthy_.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The main hall of the Blooming Rose was crowded with visitors and prostitutes, even though the sun outside had not yet set. The not so fancy chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings of the great room, the red curtains draped over doorways, the red carpets lying under the sort of elegantly carved tables and chairs all served to make the establishment something it was not: respectable. At least in Ronan's view. Dressing up the place wouldn't make it less seedy. It was a brothel, and every now and then moans and screams of pleasure could be heard over the laughter and the soft thrumming of a stringed instrument.

As he walked through the great hall, he searched for his human friends. He spotted two of them sitting at a table to the left of a great giant cask of ale in the far right corner of the room, under the second floor balcony. Ronan set off toward them. An elven woman brushed by Ronan, knocking his shoulder back and momentarily taking him off of his path.

"Can I get you a drink, Ronan?" she asked. A coy smile covered her face and she smoothed a hand over her auburn hair and then down her side, resting finally at her hips.

"Not now, Porfiria." Ronan replied. He flashed the woman a quick smile in gratitude and continued on his way.

"Where've you been?" Vance asked as Ronan stopped by his table.

Ronan didn't bother answering Vance. The man was so bossy sometimes, acting as if he was not just Ty's older brother, but Ronan's as well. Ronan just wanted to clout him in the face. But that wouldn't do. Instead, he looked around for Ty. He couldn't spot him anywhere. "Where's Ty?"

"Hopefully he's not doing anything stupid." Vance said.

Ronan frowned. "I have a plan."

"Do you now?" Vance asked in slight disbelief. He changed his mind once he saw the serious expression on Ronan's face. "Spit it out then."

"Not here, and not without Ty." Ronan said defiantly.

Vance sighed. "Find him then. He's probably staring out at the water. That's usually what he did when was a kid, when he wanted to sulk."

"Where can we speak?"

"My aunt's place in Lowtown." Chug said. "Ty will know where it is."

Ronan turned around and left the brothel as quickly as he had entered. There was no more time to waste.

…

The sun was a bright ball of fire in the sky as it set, turning the sky orange and pink. Ronan made his way along the docks, keeping an eye out for Ty. Finally, he spotted him, sitting on the pier, staring out at the water like Vance had said. Ronan took a seat next to him.

"I've always wanted to be a sailor." Ty said wistfully as he watched a couple of sailors rigging the sails of a galley. "They get to see the world. To be a part of something."

"Then why didn't you become a sailor?" Ronan asked.

"To be honest, the first time I went on a boat, I vomited through the whole journey. That was also the last time I was on a boat. I made the way back overland. Can't be a sailor with a weak stomach."

Ronan laughed at the image Ty drew in his mind. He laughed so hard his cheeks hurt. He was amazed at how long it had been since he had really laughed like this. Ronan couldn't even remember the last time he'd had to hold his stomach in sweet pain, the scene in his mind was so funny.

"Hey, it's not that funny." Ty said with a smile. He playfully shoved Ronan away. "What is it you call me all the time? _Halla _turd?"

"That's right, you're a _halla_ turd." Ronan managed to say, his laughter simmering down. He shoved Ty back. He was reminded of Rhys, his silly cousin, at that moment.

"Vance practically raised me. Our mother died when I was really young and I never knew my father." Ty had a wistful look on his face. "Vance was worried sick about me when I took off on that ship. He thought I ran away for good. He's always worried sick about me. Sometimes it's too much to deal with."

"And so he brought you into a life of bounty hunting." Ronan said.

Ty shrugged. "It was that or fend off thugs, gangs, the Coterie and all that in Darktown."

Ronan didn't know what else to say, so he sat there in silence, watching the water roll in and out of the harbor. He thought of his clan, far away across the sea. He wondered what they were doing, if they even noticed if he was gone. _Of course they would notice._ _But would they care?_

"How about you? What did you want to do with your life?" Ty asked after a moment of silence.

Ronan was caught off guard by the question. He couldn't help looking at his stump. Ty noticed.

"Never mind, I didn't mean to…" Ty began to apologize.

"No, it's alright." Ronan said. He thought about it some more before answering. "I guess if this had never happened, I would have just stayed with my clan and defended them, living the life of a warrior. I would have bonded with a girl, taken her to wife, and made lots of babies just to shut my mother up."

Was that the life he had always wanted? Was that what he had been so disappointed about after losing his hand? Or was that the life his father had wanted for him? He didn't know if he was sad or regretful for that lost life. Perhaps, this new one was turning out better than he had hoped. At least, once he rescued Anwen and got his blade back. Then it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Ty smiled. "You must have had girls falling all over you."

"Oh I did." Ronan admitted with a grin. "But when I lost my hand, I wasn't so popular anymore. Though, now that I think about it, it may have been my sulkiness that turned them off. Besides, I didn't want any of them."

He wanted Melisende. And he still wanted her, despite her words. He cursed himself for a fool. What good was it to want someone who didn't want you? The gods certainly were cruel to him lately. Whatever had he done to offend them so?

"Was there someone special somewhere else?" Ty asked.

Ronan shrugged. This was not what he came looking for Ty for.

"Vance keeps trying to get me to forget about Anwen, now that it looks impossible to rescue her. But I can't. It's only her I want." Ty said when Ronan did not answer. He flipped a rock angrily into the water. Ronan couldn't understand Ty, but maybe they had more in common than he thought. Ty was willing to risk everything to save a woman that maybe didn't even like him back. And Ronan couldn't stop thinking of a woman who had scorned him badly.

"Did you even kiss her yet?" Ronan asked.

Ty flushed red with embarrassment.

Ronan regarded Ty with an arched brow. "You never got further than the ridiculous stories and lame attempts at flattery?"

"Hey, don't mock me. I was being gentle with her."

Ronan chuckled. "Women are not animals that need gentle cooing and tentative touches. Sometimes they just want you to jump them and ravish them till the sun comes up."

"And you would know." Ty grumbled.

"Oh, I know." Ronan thought of Melisende. The way she had looked at him and then commanded him to kiss her. It was all too much to think of. He should change the topic, and fast. "Anyway, I'm glad I found you. I have good news."

"Good news?" Ty perked up.

"You may soon get to kiss Anwen, if things go as planned."

"What?" Ty looked to Ronan in slight disbelief. "How?"

"The guys are waiting at Chug's aunt's place. You know where it is."

"Oh no," Ty whined. "Not her place. The old lady always pinches my cheeks."

Ronan chuckled. "You're scared of an old lady?"

"You just wait," Ty said with a grin. "She'll do the same to you. It doesn't matter how old you are, she'll do it."

…

The old lady was small, certainly not how he expected an aunt of Chug to look like. But she did have the strength of the giant. Ronan tried to shrug away from her, but she gripped him hard, smiling, and pinched his cheeks with such force, he found himself rubbing his cheeks.

Ty rubbed his own cheeks with a smirk. He leaned closer to Ronan. "I told you so," he whispered before sitting down at the table, the only furniture in the room, with Chug and Vance.

"Aunt, we need some privacy." Chug said loudly. His aunt did not seem to hear. She walked around the small, sparse room and muttered to herself. She filled her arms with bread and cheese and placed it all onto the table before them. She fussed around Chug, removing the barbarian helmet from his head and placing it to the side.

"Where is the cute one with the long golden braids and sweet Ferelden voice?" she asked.

"Fritz?" Chug asked back with an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Is that his name?" his aunt looked confused. "I always wondered why a sweet boy such as that had such an awful name. He looks more like a William or a Maric. A noble face such as his deserves a noble name, I always thought."

The little old lady had a dreamy look on her face as she thought of Fritz. Chug shook his head and Vance fidgeted in impatience. Ty chuckled behind a hand, careful not to let the old lady see what he was doing.

"He took a wound." Chug explained.

"That's too bad." His aunt shook her head and clucked with disappointment. "He should have been a bard that one."

"Do you mind, aunt?" Chug gave her a pleading look. But she ignored him. She came behind Ronan and gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Am I going senile or was it a female elf you had with you the last time you came around?" she asked.

Ty fought hard to hold back his laughter and Ronan fought hard to stay quiet. He wanted nothing more than to tell her to shut up and to get her hands off of him, but that wouldn't be wise. She was _Chug's_ aunt after all. They had more important things to do than catch up with Chug's aunt, but what could he do without seeming rude and without getting a beating in return?

"You're not going senile, aunt. This is Ronan. Anwen is away." Chug said patiently. He was the only one in the room to have any patience at all.

"Hmm…" his aunt released her death grip on Ronan and walked back toward Chug. "When are you going to bring that daughter of yours around? What's her name again? The last time I seen her she was a babe. You don't visit me often enough, nephew."

"Roslyn is with her mother in Tantervale, aunt." Chug answered with a look of sorrow. "Can you leave us be for a little while, if it pleases you?"

"Fine, fine." Chug's aunt made her way slowly to the door. "I'm off to the market then. Don't be planning no assassination of the viscount or anything like that. I'll not be a part of that…" she continued muttering as she opened the door and left.

"Finally." Vance groaned. He turned to Ronan. "So what's your brilliant plan?"

Ronan told them about Anders and explained their part in the rescue. They listened to him warily at first, but he could tell they agreed with it as Chug grinned, Vance nodded, and Ty sported a look of pure excitement.

"We're going to get Anwen back." Ty said happily once Ronan was done.

"If all goes well." Vance warned.

_If all goes well? _Ronan knew it would work out. It could not happen otherwise. Anwen would be free of the Circle and he would get his blade back. That was the only outcome possible, the only outcome he could see. _It will all go well._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Keep your hands steady," the enchanter urged her on.

Anwen tried. She really tried to do as the woman said. But the First Enchanter was there too, watching her, scrutinizing her every move, her every expression, her every grunt as she tried to do as commanded. Orsino seemed a nice enough man. That didn't, however, change the fact that she did not want to be there.

The magic flowed through her body. She could feel its power warming her. All she had to do was send it through her palms, into the shaft of the staff she was holding and out through the top to hit the target they had set up. It seemed an easy enough task. But it wasn't. It had never been.

Anwen's concentration broke at the last second and the ball of fire went flying through her staff towards another apprentice. The apprentice ducked quickly and Orsino snuffed the ball out even quicker before it could do any damage.

Anwen looked solemnly at her feet. It was a sight she knew so well. She could recall every line, every fold of her shoes even with her eyes closed. She didn't want the others to see the shame on her face. _I am pathetic_, she thought to herself. She felt a hand upon her shoulder. She dared to look up and her eyes met the First Enchanter's.

"Anwen, you need to find your concentration." Orsino said. "The Starkhaven Circle said you had a talent. It needs to be refined before you take your Harrowing, but that is all. I know you can do it. Don't be so hard on yourself."

She flicked her gaze away from Orsino's. She didn't believe him. She was hopeless. The worst would happen and she would be powerless to stop it. _Unless I turned into a wolf and crept away from this place_. But that would be impossible for they would surely notice a wolf cantering through the halls. And Orsino wasn't stupid. He would know it was her.

Orsino removed his hand from her shoulder and walked away, his feet clicking on the hard stone floor of the Gallows. She looked quickly upward, letting her hair fall into her face to hide her shame. The apprentice she had nearly scorched looked at her angrily before taking his leave.

"Go back to your room," the enchanter commanded. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

Anwen nodded and then scurried away as quickly as her feet could carry her.

The Starkhaven Circle had been just as bad. She never could control her magic that well. That's why she was afraid to use it, for fear she might unintentionally hurt someone, like she nearly did to that apprentice. The enchanters used to push her, to force her to learn things she never even desired to. She never wanted to be a mage. They had frightened her, told her she would not undergo the Harrowing, that they would make her Tranquil instead. The threats were and still were not enough. No matter how hard she tried, she could not control her magic.

_Or maybe I just don't want to_, she thought as she turned a corner. _If I am pathetic enough, perhaps they will just let me go._ She was nothing but a dreamer. She would be trapped here all her life, even though she didn't want to be a mage.

_A bow, an arrow, those are easy to control and not as likely to hurt somebody I care about_. Shapeshifting into a wolf was the only thing she was good at. It was the only thing she wanted to do.

When the fire broke out at Starkhaven's Circle, she fled as a wolf. In the chaos, nobody had noticed. She had been free, wandering around the Free Marches as both wolf and woman for months. Then she realized that she couldn't live like that, as much she had loved the freedom of the open, fresh air. She met the guys by chance on the road one day; Vance, Ty, Chug, and Fritz. She didn't trust them at first. They were bounty hunters; would they turn her in if they knew? But Ty had been so sweet, Fritz so kind, Chug so happy, and Vance so generous, that she stayed with them. They had become her friends, but she never told them about her magic. Becoming a wolf, that had been her secret, until Ronan had put two and two together.

Anwen reached her pitiful little room that she shared with three other apprentices. None of them were there, she noticed as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. It was just as well. She wanted to be alone. She was most comfortable when she was alone, when she didn't need to talk to anyone and had only her thoughts to keep her company. Though, she had to admit, she had gotten quite fond of the guys and being alone was not as comforting as it used to be.

The journey from Ursula's inn had been harsh. Her clothes had been soggy most of the way and her arms and hands ached from being tied up behind her the whole time. The Templars had been grumpy and took out their frustration on their captives. More than once she got a kick or a shove from behind. Once, she stumbled into the mud, and the Templar had hauled her up by her hair. That had hurt. And then there was the Templar with Ronan's sword. He leered at her constantly and made crude gestures towards her. Mostly, she looked at her feet, so she wouldn't have to look at that man, Lachlan, was his name. She knew him very well from her time at Starkhaven. _Only too well_, she shuddered. She didn't want to think of him.

Anwen had hoped that her friends would have ambushed the Templars and rescued her. But it was a fool's notion. They had fought back against the Templars at the inn and lost. She had felt guilty for that. They had put their lives in danger for her, a liar and a coward. All along the march back, she was both glad and sad to not see her friends.

As she was marched back into the Gallows she had heard a strange yet familiar melody. She looked into the shadows behind the column. Her heart had nearly stopped as she had glanced Ronan grinning in her direction. She had wondered if he was going to rescue her, but nothing at all had happened.

She flung herself onto the small hard bed. She gazed at the ceiling, with its cracks and cool grey coloring. Would this be her home forever? She couldn't remember where she had come from. Her mother had toted her along, never staying in one place for long. She always wondered now, if her mother had been a mage, wandering to avoid the Circle of Magi. But that couldn't be, for surely her mother would have done something that day long ago in Starkhaven when the Templars had dragged her away. Her mother would have known what awaited Anwen, wouldn't she? If she had, she wouldn't have let it happen.

In any case, she didn't remember much about her mother. She had a faint image of golden curls and violet eyes, like herself, and the smells of herbs and poultices always figured in her memories too. Perhaps her mother had been a witch. But it didn't matter anymore. She had thought of seeking out her mother when she was free, but she didn't know where to look. It was impossible now anyway. Anwen was back in custody. It was a different place, but the sounds, the smells, and the sights were all familiar. They formed her prison.

A pounding at the door intruded into her thoughts. For a moment, Anwen did not want to get up and answer it. She stood up, but hesitated a moment longer, fidgeting with her hands. The knocking went on, though. She would have to answer it. Grudgingly, she walked to the door and opened it. A mage she did not know stood before her, a cowl over his head and dressed in long flowing robes of grey.

"Are you Anwen?" he asked.

Too shy to answer, she nodded. The mage looked left and right down the hallway and then reached into his robes. He pulled out a letter and held it out to her with a smile. Anwen wasn't really sure if she should accept it. What if it was some sort of trick?

"It's for you." The man pushed the letter closer to her. "You can trust me."

Reluctantly, Anwen finally took the letter. The mage nodded and then trotted off down the hallway. She watched him until he disappeared around a corner and then receded back into her room, closing the door behind her.

Anwen stared at the letter in her hands, dumbfounded. Who would send her a letter? It couldn't possibly be Ty or the others for as far as she knew, they could not read or write, with perhaps the exception of Fritz, for he seemed to be full of stories, history, and quotes from the Maker. But she had never actually seen him read a book or write.

_All you have to do is open the letter and read it_, she told herself. But she was afraid and she didn't know why. Anwen took a deep breath and then opened the letter. She quickly glanced over the paper. It wasn't a long letter and it was neatly written.

_When Celestine arrives in all her glittery, bejeweled splendor, you must seek out the father of Elgar'nan in his underground prison. Freedom and friends await._

"What?" Anwen asked aloud. She was confused. What did the letter mean? _Celestine? Elgar'nan's father? _And then she remembered. "Ty and Ronan!"

Anwen didn't know what to think. Were they going to rescue her? Ty and Ronan alone? They must be crazy to do such a thing. Ty was so foolish, so foolishly in love with her. He was very sweet and caring. Always telling her stories and making her laugh. He had feelings for her, she knew. They were plain on his face whenever he looked at her. Anwen often heard the others teasing him when they thought she was not near enough to hear. She did hear it, and she didn't know if she could return those feelings to Ty.

And Ronan? She was surprised that he would try to save her. She had seen the mistrust in his face as he looked upon her, before she confessed to him. After that, well, he had still been blunt, impatient, and even a little full of himself. But there was something else about him. She often found herself watching him when she probably shouldn't have. Those moments when he thought nobody was looking. He seemed miserable, even sorrowful. He had never said anything meaningful about himself to Anwen. When she found him swimming in the Minanter River, when he took so long to come up, she had thought she would have to jump in and save him. But he had come up and she had felt his pain as she saw his face. She had felt _something_ for him then, though she still couldn't be sure what that something was. That was why she had admitted to what he knew all along. That she was an apostate.

Now he wanted to rescue her. She was surprised and befuddled, especially after she had embarrassed herself by kissing him. She could feel the heat on her cheeks right now, blushing just thinking about it. She had been so stupid. He had pushed her away with a painful look on his face. _A look of longing, for someone else_. Ty probably had seen the whole charade. He was probably hurt by it all. Yet, they both still wanted to rescue her.

_Ronan probably just wants his precious sword back. I don't mean anything to him._

Anwen sighed and lay back on her bed, studying the letter again. Ty and Ronan must want her to go to the dungeons the night of the full moon. But when was that? She often stared off into the night sky when she couldn't sleep through the tiny slit of window across from her bed. Last night, the moon was nearly full. It wouldn't be long before they came for her. _Freedom and friends await?_ She hoped that was so, for she couldn't stand this prison for any longer.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It was the middle of the night. Outside, the full moon would be glowing brightly in the sky. In Darktown, however, the moon was nowhere to be seen and the slum tunnels were as they always were. They were alive, with debauchery, dirty dealings, and destitution. It didn't matter what time of day it was, that was Darktown.

Anders led them through the old mining tunnels of the Undercity. If all went well, tonight was the night that he would lead them to Anwen, to free her from a life she never wanted. _It will go well_, Ronan thought, _and I will be holding my grandfather's blade in my hand again when this is all over_. But he had a bad feeling about it all. He couldn't say why though and so he tried to ignore the feeling.

Ronan watched the others carefully. Ty's hands twitched above the hilts of his daggers and he seemed slightly uncomfortable walking through his old home. _He's nervous as a hen_, Ronan thought. He hoped Ty wouldn't cower in fear or balk if they met any Templars. Vance, on the other hand, walked confidently through the slum, and though he had no specific expression on his face, Ronan knew he was ready for whatever came their way. The same could be said for Chug.

They reached a quiet and empty part of the slum and Anders finally came to a halt. The mage had a hard expression on his face as he looked behind them, in front of them, to the right, to the left, and even above. When he seemed sure that there was nobody else around, he bent down to uncover a latch in the ground.

"You must swear to keep this a secret for all time." Anders said, looking each of them in the eye sternly.

In return, Anders received nods and grunts of agreements. Satisfied, he opened the latch in the ground. It creaked loudly as if the hinges needed to be oiled. "The passageway," he said.

Chug looked at the hole warily, rubbing his belly as if in thought. "Will I fit in there?"

Vance went over to his big friend and slapped him hard on the back. "We'll butter you up and squeeze you through if you can't."

"That makes me feel so much better." Chug replied as Anders motioned for them all to climb down through the latch. Anders went first, and then Ronan. Vance gave a slight shove for a tittering Ty to follow and then went in himself. Chug shook his head, as if he doubted he would fit in the hole, but in the end, he did, without any problems.

The secret passageway was dark, cold, dank, and mossy. Ronan never liked the underground, but he forced himself forward. The ground was stony at parts, and at others wooden walkways, stairways, and bridges provided footing. A few corners held bones.

"I hope none of you are afraid of spiders." Anders said as he brushed away a large web from their path.

"Why?" Ty asked, looking nervously around them.

"There are some really big ones that _hang_ around here sometimes." Anders said with a little chuckle. He pointed to the rocky ceiling of the passageway. There was nothing there, but Ronan saw Ty shudder and Chug stopped in his tracks.

"Spiders?" the big man rubbed the back of his head. "Shit."

"Big?" Ty asked, glancing overhead. "How big?"

Ronan gave Ty a pat on the back. "Don't worry, Ty, they're just bugs, no matter how big they are." He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Chug and Ty's fright at the prospect of seeing large spiders. For his part, Ronan had battled a giant spider before, though that was a shapeshifting mage. A natural spider, on the other hand, would not scare him. Bugs never did. In fact, he used to terrorize some of the girls in his clan by planting the little critters onto their heads or into their braids.

"Bloody cowards," Vance taunted as he stalked by them. "How can we hope to win tonight if you're afraid of bugs? I'd hate to see your faces once we reach the Templars."

"If we see any." Anders pointed out.

A gurgling screech stopped them all in their tracks. Ty went wide eyed as he spied a skeleton rising from the ground behind his brother. "Vance!" he shouted. But Vance had already sensed the undead thing and was swinging his greatsword around. It connected with the skeleton and sent it shattering, the bones flying everywhere.

"Walking skeletons?" Ty asked with a swallow.

"I don't think they just walk." Ronan said as about another dozen skeletons rose from the ground, brandishing weapons at them all. Ronan quickly hacked at the nearest creature, sending it tumbling back to the ground. Two others came toward him swinging axes. He ducked swiftly and cut at one's legs. He needed to get his shield out, but there was no time to waste as the next one swung at him. He blocked the blow with his sword and then kicked at the skeleton, sending it backwards onto the ground. But it was still moving. He dropped his sword to the ground, took out his shield, fitted it to his stump, and then retrieved his sword, all in the time it took for the skeleton to get back up and come swinging at him again. This time he blocked the axe blow with his shield. The shield did not move up his arm, much to Ronan's relief. He brought his sword back and then swung it with all his might toward the skeleton's head. It flew off and rolled onto the ground. He bashed the rest of the thing with his shield and the bones crumbled to the ground in dust.

Around him the others were battling it out with the walking skeletons. Chug was smashing the creatures with his maul and roaring loudly with every swing. Vance cut through the creatures with his greatsword. A cut on his left arm was dripping with blood, but it did not slow him down. Ty's anxiety had fled with the onset of battle. He ducked and slid around the creatures, too fast for them to hit him. He finished off quite a few with his daggers. Anders stood calmly by the side, casting spells from his staff, freezing the creatures or burning them. Either way, it was over.

"There is no time to waste. Let's continue on." Anders said as he fled through an opening. They quickly followed him through. Ronan wondered why they had been attacked by skeletons. If this was a passageway used often by lyrium smugglers and mage freedom fighters, then why was it occupied also by the undead? Shouldn't it be free of those things? He had no time to ask, though, as the spiders they had been chatting about finally made an appearance, crawling down from the ceiling or sliding down on webs.

"I hate spiders!" Chug yelled. He strode forward toward the creatures he hated so much and smashed them with his maul in a frightened fury. The spiders' guts went flying everywhere. It was not a pretty sight.

Ronan braced himself as one of the spiders, not nearly as big as the one he had fought on the beach long ago, flew through the air towards him, its legs spread out and its fangs clicking, ready to cut deep into him. _It's just a bug, a really big bug,_ he found himself repeating in his head. He held out his sword and moved his shield up in front of his face. He felt the spider's furry legs wrap around him but they went quickly limp as his sword cut through the creature and he shoved it away with his shield.

"Help!" Ty cried out. Ronan turned toward his direction. A spider was chasing after him and the idiot was running right into a corner. Ronan ran after the bug and whistled loudly. The spider didn't change direction; its beady red eyes were set only on Ty. Shaking his head, Ronan rushed at the creature from behind, leaped onto the creature and dug his sword into its back. The spider hissed and tried to knock Ronan off. He held onto his sword tightly and used his shield to bash the creature to death.

"Thanks," Ty muttered, breathless. "I've never seen such big spiders." He looked towards the others. Most of the spiders were dead or dying. A couple of the spiders were on fire, and there were spider legs and squashed spiders scattered all over the small cavern. Ronan burst into laughter as Ty gingerly stepped away from the dead spiders and guts, afraid to touch the things.

"I thought we'd be fighting Templars, not giant bugs and walking skeletons." Vance grumbled loudly in Anders' direction.

"The lyrium smugglers guard their passageway seriously." Anders said, brushing off his robe. "As to the Templars, they might be around, waiting for a fix. We'll have to kill any we see, to keep the passage safe."

"The passage isn't really a secret then, if the Templars already know about it." Ronan pointed out.

"Only the seedy ones know about it, but none of them know that it is used for freeing mages from the Gallows." Anders replied. "We must keep it that way."

"Let's go then." Ronan said. Who knew how long Anwen would wait for them before losing face and running back to the Gallows, or worse, right into a pack of spiders or skeletons.

They didn't see any more spiders or skeletons anyway as Anders led them through the rest of the passage. They didn't meet any lyrium smugglers either, which was a good thing, for if they had gotten caught and if any of the smugglers had gotten away, they would be walking a perilous edge between safety and danger. Lyrium smugglers took their trade seriously and anyone who got in their way would do best not to in the first place, for all the horrid tales Ronan had heard about them.

They came to the last cavernous room in the passage. Ahead of them was a steel gate which led to the Gallows dungeons. They crept cautiously through the room, watching the corners, the shadows, for any signs of hidden Templars. For any sign of Anwen. Anders furrowed his brows and a look of worry overcame his face.

Anwen should have been there by then. Something was very wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Anwen was going to leave as soon as she heard the snores of her roommates. But she lingered longer than she should have in her bed. She was afraid. What if she got caught? Surely, there would be Templars patrolling the hallways and stairs leading to the dungeons. How was she supposed to get there? She couldn't very well change into her wolf form. That would raise more suspicions than not and then everything would be ruined.

Finally, she got angry with her own cowardice and pushed the covers off of her. She stood up, wrapped a cloak around herself and pulled the hood tight over her golden locks. She glanced over the sleeping apprentices who shared her room to make sure they really were asleep. She took a step forward and none stirred. The moonlight poked through the small slit in the wall. With a deep breath, she moved forward, pushed open the door and slid into the hallway.

She listened as a wolf would. She faintly heard the patter of footsteps, the clatter of steel armor and a stifled cough. There were guards. But the shadows were deep in the hallways. She could remain within them, walk as silent as a hunting wolf, and remain invisible to the Templars. Or so she hoped.

Anwen moved ahead. She reached the end of the hall. She made it this far. She forced her way forward down the stairs with a deep breath. The steps were made of stone and she made barely a sound. At the bottom, she glanced around the door frame. There was a Templar standing guard at the other end. If she was quick, she could make it down the other set of stairs without being seen. She bit her lip, closed her eyes briefly, and entered the hallway, turning into the next set of stairs. _Quick as wolf. Silent as a wolf._

She raced down the stairs. There was another set to go down after these. Then she would have to make her way to the doors of the dungeon. That would be the hard part. Perhaps she could cast a spell on the guards. But that might not work. With her luck, she would jumble it, send it in the wrong direction, and they would be alerted to her presence. With a sigh, she reached the next set of stairs and climbed swiftly down those, meeting nobody.

She felt the wall for any loose stonework. A small piece came loose and she clutched it hard in her hand. She made her way into the great room, where the mages ate their meals, keeping to the shadows. There were no guards here, at least. She pushed open the kitchen door slightly, but it creaked loudly. She held her breath, waited to hear the pounding of footsteps, the shouting of an alarm, but nothing happened. She continued forward.

She was frightened now. She was so close to the dungeon's doors. Her heart pounded in her chest. She vowed not to stop, for she feared she would never move forward if she did. She ran through the kitchen, nearly running into a table, nearly knocking over a cauldron. Anwen shoved her way through the back door. She was in the courtyard now. She needed to run to the other side, to where the doors were.

She had to stop, to watch out for the guards. There were a few of them in the courtyard, standing at alert. She fingered the piece of stone in her hand. _I just need to throw it far away. Distract the guards for enough time to run through the moonlight._ She glanced at the moon, at Celestine in her beautiful shining glory.

Anwen launched the piece of stone to the other side of the courtyard. As she watched it flying through the air she prayed to no god in particular for it to make a clatter. She heard nothing. She wanted to slink against the wall and cry. But she didn't.

_How do I get across?_ She played with the strings of her hood, wondering what to do. _What would the guys do? Ty would probably be as clueless as me. The others might just run across, not caring if they were seen. What do I do?_ And then it came to her. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she concentrated deeply on a bush across the courtyard. _Burn_, she thought. Her palms grew warm. _Burn, bush, burn_. Her palms were hot now. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to give up. She felt the fire burst from her palms and opened her eyes. The bush went up in flames. Her palms were cool again.

The Templar guards were startled by the sudden fire. They all turned toward the bush, not noticing the fire had initially come from her direction. Anwen ran across the courtyard and to the gate of the dungeon door. She pushed it roughly, but it wouldn't open. _A lock! It's locked!_ She panicked. She turned, intending to flee back to her room, but ran straight into the flaming sword sigil of steel.

Heavy gauntleted hands grasped at her arms, dug into them deeply. She cried out in pain.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lachlan asked gruffly. She cringed at his voice. He pushed back her hood and she was forced to look up at him. The malicious sneer that covered his face as he realized who he had caught was enough to make her faint.

…

Anwen's awareness returned to her not long after. She was seated in a dark cell, lighted only by a single torch above her. Lachlan and five other Templars stood around her, watching her. Instinctively, she backed away, but backed only into a cold stone wall. She was trapped. It wasn't just a nightmare.

"I don't know why you wanted to come down to the dungeons, but here you are." Lachlan said with a smirk. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. She clawed at his arms, but he only shoved her arms away violently. He clutched her chin and forced her to look at him.

"I… I'll tell… Orsino…" she managed to croak out. Lachlan and the other Templars laughed, all but one, who stood nervously behind Lachlan. "Meredith…" They laughed even louder.

"It was your greatest mistake trying to escape. Nobody will ever know about what we are going to do to you." Lachlan said. "Not Orsino, not even Meredith. Nobody cares about mages, especially mages like you."

The nervous Templar behind Lachlan cleared his throat. "Lachlan, what are we doing here?"

Lachlan turned his head to the side briefly and gave the Templar a look that said not to question his authority. The Templar looked away and stayed his tongue, though it looked to Anwen like he had wanted to say something more. Lachlan, unfortunately, turned his attention back to Anwen.

Anwen tried to break free of his grip. He pressed himself against her, smashed her between his heavy armor and the cold stone wall. She could hardly breathe. Her heart hammered in her chest and she would have fallen had she not been pinned. Lachlan plastered his fat lips onto her own. She squirmed, trying to get away, but still they pressed on her. She wanted to retch as his free hand groped her breasts. At least he had taken off his gauntlet or it might have hurt more. Either way, it would happen again, like it had so many times before at Starkhaven.

"This isn't right." Anwen thought she heard the nervous Templar mutter. _If it isn't right, help me you craven fool_. But he did nothing and Anwen suffered Lachlan against her. How many times had he done this to her before? She would not take it anymore. Her time in the world had changed her. Anwen would find the courage to stop him.

Lachlan broke away and laughed. Anwen spit in his face. She didn't think she had the courage for that, but she wasn't going to let them do this to her. He wiped at the spit with an angry scowl. He unsheathed his sword – Ronan's sword, Anwen realized – and cut loose her cloak. He started to cut down the front of her robe. Anwen's mind raced back and forth. She needed to stop this. She spotted the torch in the corner of her vision. She grabbed at it and threw it quickly towards the Templars. They cursed and stepped backward.

Anwen ran from the wall, straight toward the Templars. They grabbed at her, but she twisted and jerked from their outstretched hands. She ducked, crawled through a set of legs and fled into the darkness. She heard their curses as she ran away. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care, as long as she got away from them. As long as she made it to Ty and Ronan, wherever they were waiting.

She was late, so very late. She hoped they were still there. She heard the footsteps of the Templars behind her. They would catch her. She should turn into a wolf. She stumbled down some wooden steps, trying to concentrate on shifting her body. Instead, she tripped on the last step and fell forward on her face. She felt the Templars behind her.

Lachlan grabbed a hold of her hair again.

_This is the end. I am finished. _

In her panic, she could not use her magic.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

They heard noises beyond the gate. Scuffling, curses, and a cry of pain were some of the sounds that reached them. Anders looked worriedly toward the rusty steel gate.

"It's Anwen!" Ty shouted out. He ran toward the gate, kicking it open. It budged only a little, but still, he went through. Chug came up to the gate and bashed the rest of it open with his maul. The rest of them hurried through. They turned a corner and came stumbling into a horrid scene.

Six Templars surrounded Anwen. One of them held her by her hair. In his other hand, the Templar held Ronan's sword. Ronan would have rushed the bastard, but Anders held him back, just as Vance held back Ty. The Templars stared at the intruders and stopped whatever they were doing. The tension in the room rose. Ronan could see it in the way the Templars' hands twitched by their weapons, by the way his own companions were champing at the bit to kill.

"Let her go." Anders said. Anwen clawed at the Templars arms, tried to squirm out his grip. A look of pain settled on her face as he pulled on her hair.

"If it isn't the little healer from Darktown." The Templar who gripped Anwen said, looking over Anders haughtily. He chuckled. "Your days of running from the Circle are numbered. You and Hawke both will not be free forever, be sure of that."

"Lachlan, your wicked reputation is well deserved." Anders spat back. "It is you who should be worried right now."

"Let her go!" Ty shouted.

Lachlan laughed loudly. "Six against five? One of you a lackwit youth, another a cripple. I do believe we've had your number already."

Ronan felt his blood boiling. Lachlan was holding his sword. It was an insult to his grandfather. The Templar's words also fumed his anger. And the man was holding Anwen. She didn't deserve this. She deserved to be free. "Ursula's inn was an anomaly. We are more evenly matched here."

The Templars laughed.

"I will show you what mages can do." Anders held up his staff and it seemed to Ronan that the mage was growing larger, though he wasn't. Anders' eyes began to glow blue and cracks on his body glowed the same eerie color. He sent a large burst of energy towards the Templars, knocking two of them backward. "Justice demands none of these Templars live!"

Lachlan watched wide eyed as Anders went berserk, throwing lightning everywhere, knocking back his fellow Templars. Ty charged at Lachlan, who let go of Anwen to defend himself from the oncoming onslaught of Ty.

Ronan roared in frustration as a Templar came for him. He wanted his blade back. Lachlan would taste vengeance from Ronan, he promised as he blocked the swing of the wrong Templar. He returned the favour to the Templar, but the man blocked his swing. He danced around the man, hacking at his armor. The armor was almost foolproof. Eventually, Ronan found a weak spot, the armpit, but it didn't do enough damage to bring the Templar down. The Templar was furious from the nick and came at Ronan harder, scratching him on the leg. Gritting his teeth, Ronan pushed the Templar backwards, bashed him with his shield, and was about to swing at the man's head when instead Chug hammered the man to the ground with his maul.

Chug nodded at Ronan and then went to fight another Templar. Ronan shook his head. He had the Templar. He didn't need anybody's help. He glanced around him. Vance had the upper hand on one Templar, while Chug and Anders battled three others as a team. He looked around for Ty. Lachlan was calmly defending himself against Ty, who moved in and away from the Templar with his daggers. He seemed to be holding his own, so Ronan went over to Chug and Anders to even the odds out there, for the moment at least, for Lachlan would see _nan_, from Ronan's own blade.

The Templars seemed to be absorbing the magic sent their way by Anders, but they were growing tired. Chug swung at them and forced them backward. Ronan singled one out and dueled him. He blocked a blow with his shield, and then cut at the Templar in return. The Templar's armor clanged as the sword hit, but no lethal damage was done. Ronan hit the Templar several times, but each time the Templar blocked or countered. Suddenly, the Templars arm was on fire. Ronan looked to Anders, but it hadn't come from him. He looked the other way to see a very angry Anwen. She had used her magic. Ronan was surprised, but he took the opportunity to finish the Templar off.

A Templar slumped onto his knees in front of Anders. He had a pleading look on his face and he lowered his weapons in submission. "Please. I did nothing wrong. I only followed orders."

"You watched and did nothing when you knew it was wrong to treat anyone like that." Anders replied. It seemed to Ronan, however, that it wasn't really Anders speaking.

"Mercy," the Templar begged, his hands outstretched to Anders. His beseeching eyes darted to Anwen, pleading with her. Anwen looked away sadly, for Anders already had his staff raised high in the air.

"There will be no mercy for you," with glowing blue eyes and a deeper than normal voice, Anders brought his staff hard onto the ground. Lightning bolts came streaming out of the staff to blast the Templar into pieces.

It was quiet now but for the heavy breathing of the ones still alive. Anders' blue glow had disappeared and he was leaning over looking drained and tired. The Templars were all done for, except for Lachlan, who fought desperately against Ty, realizing he was alone now against five, six really with Anwen freed. They surrounded Ty and Lachlan.

"Finish him off." Vance said to his brother.

Lachlan resembled a trapped animal. His swings became lazy and a look of panic overcame his face when once it was a mocking sneer. Ty knocked the sword from his hand. It fell to Lachlan's side. He dropped his shield and fell to his knees in submission. Standing behind Lachlan, Ty grabbed the man's greasy brown hair and pulled his head back to reveal his throat.

"Slit his throat." Vance prodded.

Ty brought his dagger to the man's neck, breathless from the fight. Ronan watched uneasily. He glanced anxiously at his sword lying by Lachlan. He saw the man flex his fingers, reach for the weapon. Ronan lurched forward, but he was too late. It all happened too fast. Too fast for it to be stopped. Lachlan gripped the sword and plunged it into Ty's stomach.

Anwen screamed as Ty fell backward, the sword in his stomach, his mouth open in surprise, blood pouring forth from him.

They stood in shock as Lachlan chuckled mockingly. Ronan never stopped. He may have been too late to stop the sword plunging into Ty, but he wasn't about to let Lachlan continue mocking them. He whipped his sword through the air, slicing through the Templar's neck. Lachlan was silenced as his head rolled away from his body.

Ronan dropped his sword, Fritz's sword really, and his shield. He looked over to Ty. Anwen cradled him in her arms. Ronan's sword remained in Ty's stomach. He stared at the scene dumbfounded.

Vance stalked over to his brother, taking his hand. Ty's eyelids fluttered. It looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out but blood. Vance turned his head to Anders. "Do something!"

Anders walked over to Ty, took a long look at the youth, and shook his head apologetically. "He's already gone."

Vance looked at his brother, saw that he was not breathing and stood up angrily. He gripped the handle of the sword still in his little brother's stomach and pulled it out. He threw it at Ronan's feet. "Your precious sword," he hissed. Vance kicked at the ground, clutched at his head, and then glared at Anwen. And then he fled down the passageway.

"We should go." Anders said. He looked toward Chug. "Can you carry him?"

Chug nodded and then walked over to Ty. Anwen moved back with tears in her eyes and Chug picked Ty up, as easily as if he were a baby. He followed after Vance, Ty's limp body in his arms. Anders guided Anwen in front of him and soon enough Ronan was left alone.

Ronan looked at his feet. His grandfather's sword lay on the ground, bright red with blood. His sword had killed Ty. It might not have been his own hand that killed Ty, but at that moment, he felt as if he might as well have been the murderer.

He crouched down and felt the hilt of the sword. He pressed it into his palm. It felt like it belonged there. But it was tainted now. Tainted by the death of his friend, for that's what the _shem _had become to Ronan, a friend.

How could he ever wield it again?


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

He stood over his friend's lifeless body. Ty's eyes were still open, mossy green and staring wide eyed in shock. His lips were slightly parted, as if he were still waiting for that kiss from Anwen. Ronan had to look away.

Ty would never get that kiss now. He would never see the world. His silly friend who told ridiculous stories, who wanted to be a sailor but couldn't for a weak stomach, would never move his limbs again. He would never laugh, never smile, never nothing. It wasn't fair and it was all because of Ronan's sword.

_All because of a wicked and cowardly Templar_.

If Ronan had not lost his sword in the first place, to that dirty Lachlan, none of this ever would have happened. If the man had not hit him from behind and then taken his sword from his hand, Ronan would have freed Anwen before she was even caught and they never would have needed to go down into that passageway. Ty would be alive.

Ronan sighed. There was no use in what-ifs. They had plagued him before to no use. It wouldn't do to bemoan them again. Ty was dead and that was that, as sad as it was.

"Falon'Din, _Lethanavir_, Friend to the dead, guide Ty to his rest." Ronan whispered. He doubted Falon'Din would listen. There was no oak staff to help Ty find his way to the Beyond and no cedar branch to protect him from the ravens. In any case, Ty had the _shem_ god to guide him. Ronan had only sought comfort for himself, but it would not come.

He could feel his sword at his back once again. He hadn't cleaned it yet. It was still full of Ty's blood. It would need to be cleaned, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. He turned away from Ty to pace around Anders' clinic.

Vance had all but disappeared in his grief. Chug had set out to find him as soon as they had returned to Anders' clinic, as soon as Chug had laid down Ty's lifeless body on a cot. Ronan was supposed to go to Chug's aunt's place with Anwen. She sat blankly in a corner as Anders said quiet words to her. Her robe was ripped in the front and bloody from holding Ty.

Suddenly, Ronan couldn't take it anymore. The death, the expressionless Anwen. It all stifled him. He fled Anders' clinic. Through the giant hole in the wall, he could see that it was still night. Kirkwall still slept outside of Darktown.

He was never good at comfort. He never knew what to say. He was glad Chug had gone after Vance and that Anders was speaking to Anwen. He leaned against the wall and rested his eyes. But all he could see was the dirty Templar using his sword to kill Ty.

"You should get her out of the city." Anders said, appearing besides him. "It won't be safe for her anymore."

"She doesn't need me." Ronan said carelessly. _It should be Ty standing here_.

"Take her to the Dalish. With you by her side, they may take her in." Anders turned around to return to his clinic. Ronan stole a glance into the clinic. Anwen stood over Ty with a painful expression on her face. It almost looked like guilt.

…

Ronan opened the door to Chug's aunt's place to find Fritz seated at the table. As he spied Anwen entering behind Ronan, his face widened in shock. He stood up and immediately went to her, limping slightly from his wound, and then enfolding her in his arms for a welcome hug.

"Anwen," Fritz said gently. She seemed to fall apart in his arms, sobbing quietly. "You're free. What happened?"

When she didn't answer, Fritz looked to Ronan for answers.

"We lost Ty."

"Ty?" Fritz asked in disbelief. "Maker have mercy on his gentle soul."

Anwen removed herself from Fritz. Noticing the state of her clothes, Fritz removed his cloak and hung it around her shoulders.

"It's all my fault," she whispered. "I should never have…"

"Anwen don't even finish that." Ronan interrupted. He wasn't going to let her take the blame for this. "Ty wanted to rescue you. He said he would fight off two thousand Templars to save you. And he did save you, didn't he?"

Anwen stared at her toes. "Yes… but…"

"No buts." Ronan said. "What's done is done. Ty is a hero."

"A … dead hero." Anwen wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

Ronan sighed. Why did he even bother? He was never good at comforting. His mother would do a better job. But how could he comfort Anwen when he felt the same guilt she did? He sounded a lot more confident than he was at the moment. He was relieved when Chug came through the door.

"Where is Vance?" Fritz asked.

Chug took a seat at the table. He looked at Anwen apologetically.

"He doesn't want to be near me, right?" Anwen said.

Chug nodded with a sigh. So Vance blamed Anwen for his brother's death. Ronan thought about what Anders had said. That he should get Anwen out of the city. It might be for the best after all. She was an apostate. Vance might be angry with her, but would he sell her out in revenge? Ronan didn't think so, but it was best not to take any chances.

"You have to come with me." Ronan said to Anwen. She gave him a puzzled look in return. "You can't stay in the city."

"But where?"

"Just come with me. Before the sun rises." Ronan said, impatient to be off now. He was worried for Anwen. Soon they would notice that she was not there. It was best to be out of the city before they sent out Templars to find her.

They said their goodbyes. Ronan returned Fritz's sword with gratitude. Chug enfolded both Anwen and Ronan in a big bear hug, much to Ronan's chagrin.

"Tell Vance… tell him I'm sorry." Anwen said before they turned around and left.

Ronan wondered if he'd ever see the _shems_ again. A few months ago he might have been glad. Now, he was filled with regret.

…

Marethari folded her arms and watched him closely. Her pale green eyes shone with kindness and her snow white hair gave her an air of experience and wisdom. Yet, Ronan wished she wouldn't look at him so. She reminded him of his mother, though Siofra was not as old the Keeper.

"We would not turn the girl away, but perhaps it would be better to bring her elsewhere, where she is needed." Marethari spoke softly.

"Elsewhere?" Ronan asked, puzzled. They had arrived at the Dalish camp at the foot of the mountain not long after the sun had risen. Ronan had thought this was the right thing to do, but now, Marethari's words had placed a seed of doubt in his mind.

Marethari smiled slightly. "Your clan has been long without magic."

Ronan frowned. "I have no clan."

"You always have a clan, even when you are away. Just like Merrill is still a part of this clan even though she chooses to be away, you are part of your clan. The blood of the _elvhenan_ is strong in you. It is strong also, in Anwen."

"Anwen?" he glanced in Anwen's direction. She was sitting alone at the moment, wrapped in Fritz's cloak. She had spoken with Marethari moments ago, though Ronan had no idea what they had talked about. Marethari had given her a book, which she was clutching protectively at the moment. "She is not of the people. She is a city elf."

"So was Pol." Marethari replied. "Now he is one of us. It is not the Dalish way to turn away our city kin when they need us. Anwen has the gift of magic. Her abilities are older even than Arlathan, as old as time itself."

Ronan sighed. "What are you saying, Keeper?"

"Your father Silas has the wisdom of a Keeper, but he cannot wield magic like a Keeper should. He needs an apprentice who could."

Ronan narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Are you suggesting that I should bond with her?"

Marethari chuckled at Ronan's confusion. "Not at all. But if that is what enters your mind when I mention bringing the girl home, then who are you to question the Creators?"

"Oh," Ronan replied with embarrassment. Sometimes he wished Keepers would just speak bluntly. He thought about his clan. It was true that they hadn't been blessed with magic for three generations. Sometimes, when they met with other clans, they were thought to be cursed. Nobody ever wanted to send their children to them, at least their children with magical abilities. They thought it bad luck. So most of the time, his clan had kept to themselves. They chose the best hunter to be Keeper whereas other clans had apprentices who could wield magic. His clan even spoke a little differently from the other clans, but for the most part, they remained Dalish to the core.

"You are welcome here, for as long as you wish, but should the Templars come looking…"

"They won't." Ronan felt bad for interrupting Marethari, but she only nodded as she caught his impatient glance toward Anwen. He knew what to do now.

Ronan excused himself from Marethari's side and made his way over to Anwen. He took a seat next to her and noticed her eyes flick to his own for a swift second. _Still so shy?_ He wondered how to go about this. He normally would just come out and ask it, but Anwen was different.

"So, um, what do you think?" he asked her.

She gave him a quick puzzled look, before returning her eyes downward. "It is nice here."

"Very rocky though. I don't think there are much deer here." Ronan said. He rubbed his stump absentmindedly. "The hunting must not be very good here."

"They seem well." Anwen said.

"Even so, it is close to Kirkwall."

"It is close to Ty."

Ronan bit his lip. He wanted to remind her that Ty was dead, but he knew she did not forget. How could anyone forget? He certainly wouldn't.

"I have decided to return home," he said instead.

Anwen tilted her head toward him. She had a nervous look about her. "Home?"

Ronan nodded. "To Ferelden. To my clan."

"Oh."

Ronan could stand the dancing around no longer. "I want you to come with me."

Anwen opened her mouth in surprise. "Me?"

"Is there any other Anwen around here?"

Anwen smiled.

"So what say you?"

"I would like that."

"Good," Ronan said. "There's only one problem. We might have to swim across the sea because Kirkwall is not an option for us."

That made Anwen laugh, just a little bit. Ronan found himself grinning back at her. _She has such a pretty laugh. She should laugh more often_.

"We could take ship at Ostwick," she suggested shyly.

"I've never heard of the place. Have you been there?"

Anwen nodded.

"Then we shouldn't get lost."

Ronan was going home. He didn't like that he was leaving without saying anything to Vance. It was sad, the way and the why he was leaving the Free Marches. There was nothing he could do to make it better, though. The journey home might be long, but at least he had a friend by his side.

_And a friend watching over us. Don't worry Ty; Anwen will be safe with me. _


	18. Epilogue

_For the longest time I was unhappy with the way I ended things, so I finally did something about it. It will save me a lot of work for something else I am working on, so I hope you enjoy this. -artemiskat  
><em>

Epilogue

The Dalish camp was far behind them now, and so was the sun, a blazing ball of orange amidst a pink sky. It seemed like they had been walking forever, that a lifetime had passed since everything was normal. But it had only been one cycle of the sun, one cycle in which everything had changed. Only yesterday, Ty was alive. Only yesterday, Anwen was imprisoned in the Gallows for being who she was, a mage. Now, he was dead and she was free.

Ronan stole a glance at Anwen, who walked silently by his side. The quick look revealed to him Anwen's fatigue. Her walk had turned into a trudge, her shoulders slumped forward, and her eyes wavered between keeping open or closing shut. Ronan's own yawn told him he felt very much the same.

"We should break for the night," he said.

Anwen nodded her agreement and stopped in her tracks, waiting, it seemed, for further direction from Ronan. _She may know the way to Ostwick, but she sure isn't very comfortable with taking the lead_, he thought.

Ronan studied the road's surroundings. There weren't many trees for shelter and there was a whole lot of open space. They'd been lucky enough so far, in not meeting anyone on the road, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen. _Ty may be watching over us, but I still don't feel safe._ He gazed again at Anwen. The Dalish had given her a new dress to replace her tattered robe and she wore still Fritz's travelling cloak. Even so, her long golden hair, facial scar, and violet eyes were a problem. _She's very distinct looking._

Ronan rubbed his eyes. He felt very weary, yet he needed to get Anwen to Ferelden as soon as possible. He wasn't sure he was up to the task. A million things could go wrong between here and there. He tried to snuff out the negativity though. _Don't let Ty's sacrifice be for nothing_.

"There," Ronan said, motioning toward a pair of trees far away from the road. "We should rest there for the night."

They moved forward towards their chosen space, each step feeling heavy, each step feeling like a mighty effort. Ronan hadn't slept in over a day. His brain felt like mush, his thoughts came slowly and hard. _I have to keep her safe_, he thought as they flung themselves onto the hard ground in exhaustion. He leaned back against one of the trees. _I have to keep her safe, but I am nothing_. Ronan let out an exasperated sigh, furious at himself for thinking of those damned words _again_.

"Are you all right?" Anwen asked, concern visible on her face, though she fought hard to stay awake.

"It's… nothing. I am so tired I cannot think straight." Ronan answered. It wasn't really _nothing_, however. He hadn't thought of those words for a while now, but they caught up to him again. Maybe it was because he was tired, but maybe it was how he felt. _I am nothing_. He could have saved Ty. If only he had not brought the others through the sewers. If only he could have left it all to Anders. But he hadn't.

_I am something; I am Ronan, the accursed son of Siofra and Silas. The son who can do nothing right. Then why am I bringing Anwen home? _Ronan pounded the ground beside him in frustration. Anwen gave him a puzzling look but said nothing. _Because it is right. Marethari is right, my clan needs Anwen. I can finally do something right in my life. But I need to keep her safe_. He knew what needed to be done.

"What would you say to a disguise?" he asked Anwen.

"A disguise?" she asked back. She had jumped at his question, startled out of drifting into sleep.

"The Templars may have spread word about you already. They may even be on our trail. You look…" Ronan paused, hesitating briefly. But it had to be said, and it was after all the truth, though he had somehow neglected to really notice it before. "You're a rare beauty. You have a distinct look about you. Maybe it's best we do something about that."

A blush crept up from Anwen's neck to her cheeks. She could not meet Ronan's eyes, but she gave him a quick nod. "What would you have me do?"

Ronan shuffled away from his place in front of the tree, stopping right in front of Anwen to face her on his knees. He reached for her hair and studied it closely. It was golden, almost like his mother's hair. Despite all they'd been through the last long hours, it still felt soft and even a little silky. He lifted his eyes to peek at Anwen's face. She watched his hand run through her hair. That's when he let go.

"It'd be a shame…" he began. _To cut such beautiful locks_, he left unsaid. Her eyes met his at that moment. _Those violet eyes… I've never seen anyone with eyes that colour_. "Your eyes – that we cannot change. Your hair, yes."

Anwen clutched instinctively at a lock of her hair. "Do you want me to cut it?"

Ronan shook his head. "Nothing so drastic. There was a girl in my clan who hated her pale blonde hair. She said it made her look like an old woman. There was a flower she used to darken it. It washed out eventually. I could find it. We'd be safe once on board a ship." Ronan shuddered involuntarily at his own mention of a ship. He hoped this eventual voyage would not end as his last one had. _The midnight dragon_.

"If it will help, I will do it." Anwen said quietly.

Ronan leaned back slightly. _Would that be enough? _He studied her further. She had Dalish dress beneath the cloak. That would be useful. _I need to get her to Ferelden safely_.

"We should pretend to be husband and wife, too," he said.

Anwen looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open as if to protest, and another flush running to her cheeks. "I am not Dalish though," she said.

"I'll make you Dalish. It's easy enough to find some natural paints to serve as _vallaslin_, at least until we're safely at sea. The flower might even serve for that purpose as well as your hair, if we can find it. What is important is that the _shems_ would not look twice at you if you were my Dalish wife."

"If you think it'll help," said Anwen. She tried to stifle a yawn to no avail.

"I know so," Ronan replied, standing up abruptly. He held his hand out to her. "Come, there is time yet to search for this flower. I would not leave you alone."

Anwen accepted his hand and he pulled her up. He felt bad for keeping her awake. He really wanted to go to sleep, too, but this had to be done. They'd sleep better, too, if she was disguised. They searched the area for the flower. Ronan muttered a prayer to Sylaise and then to Andruil to guide them to it. He almost couldn't remember what it looked like; he hoped it grew in this area. Then it seemed to have jumped into their faces, for there it stood amongst bushes, its wide, thick stem straight and sturdy and leading up to a crimson coloured flower, closing up into itself in the fading light.

"There it is." Ronan said. He went over to the flower and gently tugged it out of the ground. "It should be enough."

The sky was a dark purple now and the sun had almost vanished from view. He brought them back to their seats below the trees and motioned for Anwen to sit. She did as he said.

"It won't be long now, before we can both get some sleep." Ronan assured her. He held the flower out to her. "Break open the stem for me, but carefully, by unwrapping the folds."

Anwen took the flower and studied it for a moment before unwrapping the stem as he said. With only one hand, he probably would have made a mess of the thing. But Anwen worked at it slowly and patiently. Inside the flaps of the stem was a sticky, brownish-red liquid.

"Don't ever eat this stuff." Ronan warned. "It is poison."

"It is made so delicate; you would never think it dangerous." Anwen remarked.

"Those are the tricky ones," Ronan grinned. "Those and the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

Anwen raised a brow. "Are you saying I am dangerous?"

"Hold still," Ronan said as he gathered up some of the flower's sap into his hand. He began to rub it into Anwen's hair. Immediately it transformed from golden blonde to an auburn colour. "The quiet ones are surprising."

"I surprised you? How?" Anwen asked, watching Ronan's progress intently.

"I don't know," he answered. He said more than he should have. He didn't feel like getting into this right now. He was tired.

"Great answer." Anwen said as he moved to the back of her, to colour the rest of her hair.

When that was done, Ronan came back to face Anwen. He looked at what remained of the stem. It might serve as temporary _vallaslin_. The _shems_ wouldn't know the difference anyway. He told her not to move again and began tracing some designs on her forehead. She flinched slightly as he touched her.

"I told you not to move," he said.

"Sorry," she said with a slight pinkish blush colouring her cheeks.

He continued running his finger over her face, the flower's sap turning an earthy red color on her skin. She really was starting to look different, he realized as he traced over her scar. _This might not be a fool's plan after all_. He noticed the goose bumps running along her arm that had escaped the confines of her cloak. He wondered what she felt as he ran his fingers along her face. _She probably feels sticky_. And then he was done. He wiped his hand on his own cloak that lay beside him. His hand would be stained, but he could at least cover that with his glove until it washed out.

"You look like a new person." Ronan remarked as he sidled over to the tree he had been leaning against earlier. He turned to her with a grin. "Yet, you are still beautiful enough for it to be believable that you are my wife."

Anwen laughed. "You're so full of yourself."

"You're not the first person to tell me that." Ronan said, yawning and stretching out his limbs. "We should be hidden enough here that we can both get some rest."

"Good night, Ronan." Anwen whispered.

Ronan closed his eyes, unable to keep the fatigue at bay any longer. He hoped they were safe and he hoped that his dreams would be blissful. And he hoped above all that it would not rain heavily and put all his work to nothing.

…

The disguise had proven useful. Glancing quickly at Anwen, one could not tell that her tattoos were fake and that her hair colour was not natural. Anyone taking a longer look might see the truth, but as Ronan had said, nobody bothered to look twice at a pair of ragged looking Dalish elves. Once in Ostwick, they had even walked right by a Templar, but he did not stop them, did not even bat an eyelash toward them. Anwen had clutched at his hand then and Ronan had felt her fear in her sweaty palms, had felt his own heart jump in his throat at the threat, but the moment had passed without consequence. They were safe on a ship now, a ship bound for Gwaren.

The ship was a trading galley, propelled forward only by sails. The voyage could be fast or it could be slow, depending on the winds. So far, it had been breezy enough to sail at a snail's pace. They'd been on the ship for a week now. The captain had said it would take two weeks to reach Gwaren, but they were not even halfway through the voyage yet and so Ronan doubted the captain's word. Unless the wind picked up, they could very well be on this ship for another week or two extra. And that was not a good thing, for Anwen was not taking the journey too well.

They sat out on deck most days, where the air was fresh, and where Anwen could retch over the railings. The waters were not even that wavy, and so Ronan would hate to see what treacherous waters would do to her stomach. On this day, Anwen sat hunched just below the railings. Her hair colour was running out so that the bottom half was still auburn and the top half golden again. The tattoos on her face were gone, after she'd washed her face many times, as many times as she'd retched over into the ocean. She looked miserable and hungry.

"Anwen, you should eat something." Ronan suggested.

She gave him a look of disbelief before averting her eyes back to her feet. "So I can throw it all up into the ocean?"

Ronan sighed. He wished there was something he could do for her, but nothing came to mind. When his clan had taken ship to the Free Marches during the Blight, his mother had taken care of those who had gotten seasick. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember what she had done though. _I never paid enough attention to things that could be useful_.

"Ty had the same problem," he said. Anwen looked up at that. He could see her eyes watering slightly and he looked away. "He told me how he ran away once, on a ship, to become a sailor. He wanted to see the world. But he couldn't keep his stomach down and so gave up on that dream."

"I didn't know that." Anwen said softly.

"You would have made a good pair, if he'd been bold enough to finally make a move on you." Ronan said absentmindedly. _Even if he was human_.

Anwen made no reply and when Ronan glanced at her she had retreated into her cloak, covering her head with the hood. The galley creaked slightly as they hit a small wave and the sails flapped in the wind. The voices of the other passengers cut through the air, but for the most part, they were alone in that little corner of the galley.

Ronan unsheathed his sword and brought it to rest on his lap. The blade was still dirty, still covered with Ty's blood, now crusty and brownish in colour. Ronan gulped back a sob. The sword was tainted. It might not have been Ronan that plunged the blade into Ty, but he still felt as if it were him that killed his friend. He felt like he couldn't use it ever again, even if it meant his life. Either way, it needed to be cleansed.

He had borrowed a bucket and pilfered a rag from the ship's supply cabin two nights ago. It was about time, now, that he cleaned the blade. His grandfather would want him to take care of the sword, even if it were now cursed. Ronan dipped the rag into the bucket of filthy water, for he dared not steal drinking water, and held the rag over the sword.

"Gods, help me to remove the stain from this blade." Ronan whispered. "Help me to cleanse it of the filth. Help me remove the taint of murder from the blade so that I can wield it again. Wield it proudly as I once did, as my grandfather meant me to. I cannot… I cannot be Ronan without it…"

Ronan lowered the rag onto the blade and began to scrub furiously. The dried up blood began to flake off. The sight drove Ronan into a frantic rage. The gods had been cruel to him lately.

"You took away my hand," he said angrily, still cleansing the blade. "You took away who I was. You mocked me when she did, the only woman I ever loved. And then you took away that bloody fool of a friend. Tell me what I have done to anger you so…" Ronan's chest felt about to burst with his rage and he could not calm his heavy breathing. He stopped rubbing the blade, clean of blood now, but not cleansed of his guilt. He tossed the sword to the side, where it slid to a stop in front of Anwen. Her violet eyes were furrowed in concern. He turned away from her, embarrassed to have lost control in front of her.

He heard behind him the scraping of his blade on wood, the reluctant shuffle of feet. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting as it squeezed once timidly. He tilted his head up and to the left to see Anwen gazing down at him. She crouched by his side.

"The gods give and they take. They do not do these things to make us suffer, but to make us stronger." The words were from Anwen's mouth, but to Ronan they sounded almost as if they had come from a Keeper, from his father. "You are strong already. The gods would not have given these trials to somebody weaker. They give you what you can bear and nothing more. They take what you can bear and nothing more."

Ronan felt his breathing steady slightly. "I wish they would leave me alone."

"You wouldn't want that. Things would be much worse if the gods left you be."

"Worse? I didn't think it could get any worse."

Anwen held out his sword, pushing him to take it. He regarded it long and hard and shook his head.

"I should throw it in the sea."

"Ty would want you to keep it." Anwen pushed it toward him again. She gave him a shy smile. "I heard you say that you cannot be Ronan without it. I would miss you were it so."

Ronan met her eye to eye. He was surprised at how much she was saying and how much it all made sense. She was like a different person when she broke out of her shyness. She was not so delicate after all; she was strong, steady, and caring. He placed his hand over her own.

"I will keep it then," he said. "I cannot wield it though."

"In time, perhaps." Anwen replied. She wiggled her hand free of his own and he felt the hilt, warm from her touch and a perfect fit to his hand. It was his sword and it was a part of him. He would not throw it in the sea. That would be an insult to his grandfather who had painstakingly created it. Most of all, it would be an insult to Ty, who had wanted Ronan to retrieve it as much as he wanted to rescue Anwen.

…

Ronan thought a lot about Anwen's words over the rest of their journey. The gods had taken from him many things, but they had also given too he had to admit. His mother had been gravely ill and just like that, she had been perfectly fine. And his clan had been saved from slavery when it seemed like all was hopeless. They had taken Ty, but they had returned Anwen. Life, he guessed, was all about balancing the good and the bad.

The closer they got to Ferelden, the more Ronan felt _right_. The shooting pains in his arm, the phantom pain of his lost hand, were happening less now. When they reached the edge of the forest, the air felt familiar as it rushed through his hair, the earth smelt like paradise, and all he wanted to do was rush headlong into the forest to finally make it _home_.

Ronan was a little nervous though. He wasn't sure how his clan would react to his homecoming. He had left without a word, without saying anything. And now he came back with another person, a city elf at that. While he was mostly overjoyed at coming home, he could tell that the closer they got to the end destination, the more anxious Anwen felt.

"I'm scared." Anwen blurted out right as Ronan was about to pass into the forest path. He paused and went back to her. She did look nervous as she bit her lower lip and her chest rose and fell at an unsteady pace. "What if they don't welcome me?"

Ronan placed an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close in reassurance. "This isn't the Gallows. You needn't worry. You will be welcome." _And if they don't welcome her, I will make them_.

She brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. Her hair was back to normal now and it shone brightly in the sparse shafts of sunlight cutting through the forest canopy. He felt her shudder beneath him. "Anything is better than that place."

Anwen stiffened suddenly.

"What is it?" Ronan asked.

"There is a wolf close by."

Ronan regarded her askance, wondering how she could tell, but of course, she was in a way part wolf herself. _Could it be…_ he wondered next. He let go of Anwen and stepped carefully back onto the path entering the forest. He whistled the familiar melody.

For a long moment nothing happened. Then, the grey and white wolf with blue eyes came loping out of the forest, almost shyly. Ronan squatted down to its level.

"Ash!" he called out. The wolf slowly came to his side, watching him warily. _If Ash has forgotten me, then I am done…_ but he needn't have worried. After a moment's hesitation, Ash licked Ronan's hand once before pushing his head into his side. Ronan rubbed the wolf's neck and gave him a hug. "Ah, Ash, I've missed you."

"Your pet?" Anwen asked shyly from behind.

Ronan stood up and turned to her. "My friend."

Ash went over to Anwen and sniffed around her feet. Anwen reached out and patted the wolf timidly. "It's no wonder you knew I was not really a wolf."

Ronan thought back to when Anwen had stolen his sword in wolf form. He grinned. "You make for a pretty scrawny wolf, but it was your eyes that gave it away."

Anwen frowned in indignation, but then smiled just the same. "I see."

Ash trotted off into the forest, pausing to look back, and it seemed to Ronan, to make sure that they followed. Ronan motioned for them to do just that. The forest was thick with late summer foliage. Just the same, Ronan knew the way home. He led them through winding paths, through shortcuts, and through wild patches of forest not meant to be used as paths. They were almost there when they came face to face with a nocked arrow. In his excitement, Ronan had neglected to acknowledge his surroundings, and anything hidden within it.

"_Lethallin_? Is that you?"asked the bowman. He came out of the shadows, lowering his bow to the forest floor. "By the gods, it is you!"

"Rhys!" Ronan said in surprise. It was his cousin. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the _halla _turd. Rhys came over to him and gave him a big slap on the back.

"You're home." Rhys said. His eyes darted to Anwen questioningly.

"Yes," Ronan replied. "We're home."

Rhys arched a brow at Ronan and Anwen before shrugging. "Then come home. Everybody will be happy to see you. We've been wondering where you went off to and when you'd come back." Rhys began walking toward the village.

"They missed me?" Ronan asked in surprise. He hadn't been sure what his clan thought about him. Rhys had not heard his question, but Anwen had. She gave him a little shove forward.

"Don't be so surprised. They are your family, your clan."

"Well then, let's go home." Ronan moved forward, making sure that Anwen was following. Their steps were not so heavy anymore. They were eager and willing to finally move forward.

_Home at last_. It felt good to be back where he belonged.


End file.
